


The Favor

by acrylic_sunsets



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Friendship, M/M, Redemption, Romance, Slow Burn, lots of snarking, rom-com silliness, romantic teen antics, sebastian smythe is trying his best goddammit, smythofsky friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24339661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acrylic_sunsets/pseuds/acrylic_sunsets
Summary: He owed Dave more than a favor. He owed him happily ever after – he owed him healing. He owed him one cheeky, Gaga-loving, camp-as-hell rainbow, and if it took all of his will power and every square inch of his teeth, then by God, Sebastian Smythe would get it for him.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/David Karofsky, Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Kurt Hummel/David Karofsky, Kurt Hummel/Sebastian Smythe
Comments: 36
Kudos: 56





	1. So No One Told You Life Was Going To Be This Way

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone, this is an unfinished story I've decided to start transferring over from FF, length as of yet undetermined. Just to be clear, this fic isn't Kurtofsky or Smythofsky endgame (it is a Smythofsky friendship, though); that's all I want to say about it for now. I hope you guys enjoy the story, and as always, reviews are greatly appreciated!

**Chapter 1: So No One Told You Life Was Going to Be This Way**

Sebastian hated Saturday nights.

He didn’t use to. They used to be the sublime, divine rituals he built his entire week around, his chance for release and forgetfulness - there were Saturday nights, and then there was everything else, and the one was hope, and the other was a waiting game. They had been his hidden solace, his temporary escape from the barren purgatory called Allen County, Ohio.

But it wasn’t like that anymore. Now, Saturday nights were tainted, vandalized, polluted. Now, Saturday nights were a temptation to break a well-meaning promise. They were a reminder of a mistake. They were a wrong few words said to the wrong, lost person at the exact wrong time.

Sebastian still went out. He sat at the bar in Scandals and he nursed a drink (or four), and he danced with complete strangers, and sometimes he even let himself be convinced to join one of them in a bathroom stall.

But it wasn’t the same. He didn’t enjoy it like he did before, didn’t worship it, didn’t live for it. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was he currently lived for, actually, except maybe to fulfill that well-meaning promise he’d made.

This Saturday night was no different than all of the other ones. It was the same cardiac strobes, the same bitter tequila, and the same dusty, worn-out people who always stumbled their way back there by the guise of twilight – and God, Sebastian’s worst fear in the world was becoming one of them.

But instead of leaving, instead of escaping the smoke and incense and hedonism, Sebastian always forced himself to come back, as if there was something there that he’d lost and he was hoping that one night he’d find it.

“A refill, bar-keep.” He pushed his shot glass forward with little enthusiasm toward the bartender, who was a begrimed and bearded bear if he ever saw one. The bartender never spoke to him, just poured him drinks and then waited silently as Sebastian pulled the bills, fine and crisp, from his wallet.

He wasn’t that far in yet, not as far down the black hole as he wanted to be, but the night was still young (though no one else in this bar was), and if he had to dance alone to an electronic version of a Cher song, then that was just what he’d have to do.

“So, how do you get a guy to like you?”

Sebastian jumped, nearly spilling his refilled shot just as he was bringing it up to his lips. He lowered it back down to the bar carefully.

“Well, I guess you start by not making him spill his drink.”

And against his better judgment, he turned his head, and there was Dave Karofsky standing beside him, looking just like the Ghost of Saturdays Past, dressed in his same-old wrinkled t-shirt, Chevy commercial denim jacket, and a baseball cap.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dave said, taking a swig from the beer that he was holding, giving him a tentative, rueful smile.

Sebastian gave Dave a closer once-over. He was leaning casually against the bar, beer in his hand, looking for all the world like nothing had happened. Looking like he hadn’t spent a fateful afternoon experimenting with belts. Sebastian involuntarily swallowed.

“So, what, uhh…what brings you to Scandals?” Sebastian asked. “The electric energy? The ABBA songs?” He was trying to keep his voice light but felt like he was failing completely.

Dave ran his thumb up and down the side of his beer as he stared at it. “I’ve already been here a few times actually, after…after they released me from the hospital. It’s, uhh, a nice place to get a beer and just, you know, hang out.”

It was Sebastian’s opinion that it would be more fun to hang out in the backroom of a Wendy’s, but, seeing as he was here, too, he supposed he didn’t have that much ground to stand on.

“Well, let me buy you a drink,” he finally said, clapping a hand to Dave’s shoulder.

Dave looked momentarily surprised by the offer, but then started shaking his head. “Oh, uhh, no, that’s – “

“I insist. It’s the least I can do.” Sebastian decided that was an awkward place to pause, and hurried to continue talking. “What’s that you’re drinking – Budweiser?” He turned to the bartender. “Another Budweiser, for my friend.”

“Thanks,” Dave said, finally sitting down on the bar-seat beside Sebastian. He slid off his cap and started rolling it in his hands. “Actually, you know, I was kind of…hoping to run into you here one of these nights.”

Sebastian suddenly felt frozen, unsure what to say or do. It seemed liked he’d just stumbled onto dangerous territory, and he wasn’t sure where the landmines were.

“Oh,” he said eloquently, and then, after another second, regained the use of his tongue. “Well, you didn’t have to wait for me, you know. If you say ‘I want a fuck buddy’ three times in a row, I immediately appear.”

Dave huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, well…it was actually…When you came to see me in the hospital – do you remember?”

Sebastian did remember. He remembered the harsh antiseptic smell, and the overwhelming flood of _white, white, white_. He remembered the awkwardness of asking where to put a store-bought bouquet of lilies, and his inability to look directly at Dave for the first ten minutes he was there. He remembered the things he always wanted most to forget.

“Yeah, I remember,” he said quietly, and finally knocked back his shot.

“Well, when you were there, you said – you said you owed me a favor.”

Sebastian remembered that, too. He remembered placing a hand on Dave’s arm, not sure if the contact was too much or too little, and telling him he owed Dave one. “Whatever you need, I’m your man,” he’d said, and immediately felt a little less guilty.

“Well, I was sort of wondering if I could get that favor now,” Dave ended bluntly, finishing off his beer and pushing it to the side to grasp the new bottle the bartender had placed there.

Sebastian wasn’t sure what to think. On the one hand, he could finally feel like he was making up for some of the damage he’d caused, earning back some cosmic karma points. But on the other, it all felt a little transactional, like all he had to do was pay a one-time fine for a drunk hit-and-run that had put someone in the hospital.

God, getting a conscience was not one of the things that Sebastian had put on his Christmas list.

“Sure, you can,” he said, fingers tracing the rim of his empty shot glass, and, with sudden resolve, deciding to fully commit. “What can I do you for? Some Blake Shelton tickets? A gift card to Levi’s?” he said, tilting his head with an eyebrow raise.

“That’s not – no,” Dave said. “Something else.”

Sebastian nodded, sliding his shot glass to the center as the bartender passed by. “Alright, then, Yogi. What is it you want?”

“I – I like someone.”

Sebastian’s heart dropped like an anchor. If Dave was saying what he thought he was saying – if he was talking about Sebastian – then he knew he was way out of his depth. All of this sincere emotion and gentle rejection business was not Sebastian’s strong suit, and the last thing he wanted to do was end up hurting Dave all over again.

“You like someone, huh?” he said slowly, and though it seemed like a bad idea, downed his refilled shot.

“I want your help.”

“My help?” Sebastian said, head starting to spin slightly from the night’s alcohol intake.

“Yeah,” Dave said, expression serious as he placed his cap back on his head. “I want you to help me get him.”

Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat, and then another, and then suddenly it was back to beating in normal rhythm.

“That’s it? You just want me to wingman you?” he asked, grinning with relief despite himself. “Well, that’s no problem. I’m like a gay Jason Bourne. Give me a name and a photograph and I’ll have him in your bed by the morning.”

“It’s not – ,” Dave hesitated, sucking in a breath. “It’s not that simple. I – he has a boyfriend.”

“Well, that’s not a problem, either,” Sebastian said without thinking, and then mentally kicked himself for his words. Again, leasing out a conscience was turning into a rather tricky business. Especially when of late, he kept imagining it with judgmental blue eyes and a ‘bitch, please’ glare. It would repeat things in his head like _‘You give a bad name to the gay community.’_

“I mean, boyfriends aren’t forever. We can, uhh, we can work around it.” There. It wasn’t that bad if he was doing it to help Dave, after all, to make up for another one of his mistakes. _Two wrongs don’t make a right,_ his conscience haughtily whispered, popping a hip and an eyebrow – and seriously, could he trade this new conscience of his in for a different one, maybe one that was a bit more, well, flexible?

Dave shook his head, as if Sebastian wasn’t understanding. “I don’t want to just sleep with him, I want to – I want him to be my boyfriend.” He stared at Sebastian intently, sincerity and hope lighting up his eyes, and a small smile turned up the corner of his lip. “He’s sweet, and he’s funny, and he’s kind, and beautiful, and I just – “ He trailed off, biting his lip and taking another gulp of beer.

Sebastian spent a few seconds frowning at him while he processed. “You want me to, like… _Parent-Trap_ you guys?”

“What, that movie where Lindsay Lohan is two people?”

“That one was a remake of – never mind. Look, Dave, I want to help, I really do, but my specialty is hump-and-dump, not the ‘forever diamond’ package. If you just wanted to fuck the guy,” ( _How eloquent,_ his conscience chimed in, uninvited), “then I could help, but if you want something serious, I’m probably, like, the last guy you want help from. Besides, for a long-term thing like that, I wouldn’t even be able to help unless I knew the guy, and - ”

“You do,” Dave said quietly.

“Exactly my point, Dave, and so – sorry, did you just say I do know him?”

“Yeah,” he blushed, staring down at his hands.

“Okay,” Sebastian dragged the word out. The alcohol wasn’t helping his thought process, but he started mentally trying to filter through possible candidates. None of the Dalton boys made sense, because how could Dave know them? And as for a Scandals regular, he couldn’t think of anyone that Dave might potentially fall in love with (at least, under the age of forty-five).

“You were here with him, once. Dancing.”

Sebastian blinked at him. “Anderson? _You’re_ into Jersey Boy?”

“No,” Dave exhaled frustratedly. “Not him.” He took a deep breath. “Kurt. I – I’m into Kurt.”

Sebastian waited for Dave to jump up and start tap dancing to a _42 nd Street_ number. That, at least, seemed about in keeping with the surrealness of this evening. Picturing Dave and Kurt together was like picturing…was like picturing…he really couldn’t come up with a comparable analogy, that was how unthinkable it was.

Finally, he found his voice, hidden somewhere at the back of his throat, along with his sense of logic. “I’m sorry, you’re into – you’re into Hummel? The frigid ice witch of the Midwest?” he said incredulously. “The twink to end all twinks? The rainbow fairy? That Hummel? _That’s_ your type?”

“Don’t call him that stuff,” Dave snapped defensively, catching Sebastian even more off-guard. “And I don’t know if he’s my type, but I have feelings for him, okay? He’s amazing, and gorgeous, and wonderful, and you just…you just wish you were half the person he is.”

Sebastian stared at him. He didn’t wish he was half the person Hummel was, because then he would be biologically classified as half-Care Bear. _Oh, is that why you keep me in your head to tell you right from wrong?_ a self-righteous voice whispered in his ear. _To be less like me?_

The protective, hardening look on Dave’s face suddenly reminded him of that fateful night that they spoke in Scandals, and Sebastian cursed himself for fucking everything up again so quickly.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. That was – uncalled for. I really – I really don’t have anything against the guy, it’s just, the idea of you two together is, uhh…it’s kind of out there.”

“Because I’m ugly and he’s pretty?” Dave asked quietly, throwing Sebastian off yet again.

“What? No! You’re not…” And Sebastian stopped talking, because Dave wasn’t really his type, but then again, neither was Kurt. “You’re not ugly, Dave. And I don’t actually think he’s all that pretty.” _Thanks,_ his conscience whispered, and he began to question its agenda. “You two are just…so different. You’re like – like Goldilocks and the Bear. And that’s more a comment on Hummel’s resemblance to a prepubescent girl, just so you know.”

At Dave’s glare, Sebastian kicked himself – among other things, he needed to work on his self-discipline.

“I mean – you know what I mean, you guys are just – you’re a couple that people would stare at if they saw you walking down the street.”

Dave shook his head in frustration. “You don’t think I know he’s out of my league? I do. But I – I would be good to him, and I’d treat him right, and I’d worship the ground he fucking walks on. I’d try to be better – for him.”

Sebastian felt pity for the strength of Dave’s feelings. He also knew that this was something he couldn’t help with, not on any account.

“Look, Dave,” he sighed, “I can’t, okay? This is Blaine and Kurt we’re talking about. I’ve already fucked with their relationship enough as it is. You’re asking me to – to try messing with – “

“I’m asking you to give me advice. And help. That’s all. I’m not asking you to try to mess with their relationship. I’m just bad at this kind of romantic gesture stuff.”

“What, and I’m not?” Sebastian broke in.

“You’re better at it than I am!” Dave said, looking a little desperate. “You can at least fake it enough to get guys.”

This was getting out of hand, and Sebastian didn’t know how he could have prevented it or how he was supposed to fix it. Sometimes, he’d learned, things went better the less he was involved. He tugged his wallet out and blindly pulled out a handful of bills, thrusting them on the table.

“Here, this should cover your next few drinks. I’m sorry Dave, but I can’t help. I have to go.” He pushed unsteadily from the bar seat and started walking toward the entrance. When he was almost at the door, he heard his name being called, and as he stumbled into the cool night air, he was stopped by a hand roughly grabbing his arm.

“You promised,” Dave said bitterly as they both ended up outside. “You visited me in the hospital, and you sat down beside me, and you _promised_! People don’t go back on their promises, Smythe!”

Sebastian whirled around to face him. “I meant scoring you drugs! Or a quick blowjob in the bathroom! I didn’t mean playing gay Cupid for you and Hummel like we’re in some Kate Hudson rom-com!”

“You don’t get it,” Dave said angrily. “He doesn’t believe me, he thinks I’m confused – “

“Wait a second, he knows already? You told him how you feel?”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t believe me. All I want is to convince him that this is real, that – “

“Dave, if he already said no – “

“I’m in love with him!”

David yelled it into the almost empty parking lot, throwing his baseball cap onto the ground. Sebastian could see tiny tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

“I love him,” he repeated, more quietly, “and I at least have to know I tried. I really think I could make him happy, if he just knew how I really felt. Please. I’ve already tried it, and I messed it up. I need your help.”

“And is this whole true-love thing supposed to move me so much that I agree to help you?” Sebastian asked, but he could already feel his resolve weakening. Dave looked one step away from falling onto his knees and begging him for help, and Sebastian _had_ promised him a favor.

He looked into Dave’s eyes, and saw an intensity of emotion he’d never seen there before, a longing, a want, a need, a passion that far transcended the lust he had seen in other boy’s eyes. Sebastian was fairly certain he had never inspired that kind of emotion in anyone.

Kurt Hummel had, though, in Dave. And if truth be told, it wasn’t like Blaine had a life-time warranty out on him – Kurt could choose to be with someone else if he wanted to.

“Jesus, you really have it bad, don’t you?” Sebastian asked, breathing in deeply. “Are you – are you sure you want this? Even if it all goes to hell, even if it all gets fucked up and makes everything ten times worse? Because if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it properly, and I need to know you’re not going to change your mind halfway through.”

“I won’t, I promise,” Dave said firmly. After a second, he gave a tentative smile. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”

Sebastian sighed. “Are you _sure_ you don’t just want the blowjob?”

“I’m sure,” Dave said, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

Sebastian had always wondered why people did things they knew they’d regret, but now, he understood – it was because they knew they’d regret not doing it even more.

“Well, in that case, I guess…I guess you’ve got yourself a gay Cupid.”


	2. Now, I'm the King of the Swingers, the Jungle V.I.P.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all your kudos and for reading!

“Alright, let’s start with the basics,” Sebastian said, settling down. “How did you tell him?”

They were sitting in Sebastian’s dorm room, where they had relocated to talk more privately and without Gloria Gaynor music. Sebastian was reclined comfortably on his bed, and Dave was sitting in his desk chair. Sebastian had snuck boys into his dorm at three in the morning before, but it had never been to just talk; it certainly hadn’t been to start working on a beta OkCupid app.

“So, uh, it was the week around Valentine’s Day – “

“Original.”

Dave paused to glare at him, but Sebastian had become immune to the effect of glares at around the age of five. “I – knew he was into all these romance movies, you know? Like, uh, what’s that one about Harry meeting Sally?”

Sebastian gave himself credit for pausing a second to ascertain if he was joking or not. “You mean, _When Harry Met Sally_?”

“Yeah, that one. Well, anyways, I know he’s into stuff like that, with, you know, the big, romantic gestures at the end – “

Sebastian resisted the urge to cringe slightly – he had a feeling this was going to be a painful story.

“So, uh, I thought, I’d send him gifts, you know? Anonym– anomyn– without telling him who I was, because, you know, I figured it’d be all romantic, him trying to guess his secret admirer.”

Sebastian took a rubber band that was lying on his bedside table and began playing with it, knotting and unknotting it. “And did he?”

“Well, no, he, uh, he actually thought it was Blaine. That was the week that he was out of school – he was, uh, in bed rest after his eye surgery from the…” Dave trailed off, and Sebastian snapped the rubber band as an uncomfortable swirl of guilt pervaded his stomach.

_Forgot about that, did we?_ his conscience murmured primly, crossing its legs. _Maybe we should get a list going, so you can actually keep track of all the shitty things you’ve done._

God, Sebastian missed the time when he could convince himself that his actions didn’t have consequences. And when he didn’t have a bitchy morality GPS in his head.

“Right, Dave, from when I threw the slushy at him,” Sebastian finished for him, snapping the rubber band against his own wrist, where his skin reddened slightly. “And then what?”

“Well, I thought on V-Day itself –

“No one calls it that, Dave.”

“- on Valentine’s Day, I thought I’d finish with like, a grand finale, so I left him a note telling him to meet me at Breadstixx - “

Sebastian had never understood the magnetic pull that that place had on the youth of Lima. It was as close to Italian food as _Kung Fu Panda_ was to Chinese cinema. Much like Scandals, there was too much grease, noise, and bodily fluids everywhere, and yet everyone seemed to congregate there as if it was _Studio 54_.

“ - and he came, and I gave him chocolates, and then I … I told him how I felt.”

Sebastian, twirling the rubber band around his finger, frowned. “Why do I feel like you haven’t told me the worst part yet?”

Dave blushed, glancing down at his shoes. “Well, uh, I wanted it to be a big surprise, so, uh, I thought I’d rent out a costume. I thought I’d do something cute, you know, like a giant teddy bear or, or a knight, or something, but, when I got to the store, all the good ones had been rented out and the only one left was a – a…”

Sebastian didn’t want to know, he really didn’t, but his mouth seemed to have other plans. “What was it, Dave?”

“A gorilla costume,” Dave said. “But it was better than nothing, and you know, some people think gorillas are cute, so – ”

Sebastian burst out laughing. He couldn’t help himself. The image of Karofsky squeezing into the suit was nowhere near as funny as the image of Hummel – ‘romance-is-an-art, un-casual elegance’ Hummel – spending his Valentine’s Day with a gift-bearing gorilla.

“It wasn’t – he didn’t laugh, or anything,” Dave said defensively.

“Yeah, he was probably too busy recovering from his stroke.” Sebastian wiped a tear that had started forming in the corner of his eye and took a deep breath to steady himself. _Don’t ask for pictures, don’t ask for pictures…_

_Ask for a picture,_ his conscience interrupted mischievously.

“Please tell me you didn’t confess your feelings to him _in_ the gorilla costume.”

“Well, I got out of it when we sat down to talk.”

“And he said?”

“He said – he said he didn’t really think I was in love with him, and that he liked me, but not that way, and that he wanted to be with Blaine.”

The deep note of hurt in Dave’s voice pulled Sebastian abruptly back on task – he wasn’t supposed to be using him for entertainment; he was supposed to be helping.

“Right, well, how about since then?”

Dave stared at his hands for a few seconds before speaking. “He came to see me at the hospital. He said we – he told me that I was – he said all these – “

Sebastian could hear the emotion cracking Dave’s voice, could hear the tears bubbling at the back of his throat. Fuck. Sebastian was shit at this kind of stuff. He could probably outtalk Roger Rabbit if he needed to, but if someone was crying, he was about as useful as a lamppost.

To Sebastian’s immense relief, Dave seemed to pull himself back on track, clearing his throat and swiping at his eyes.

“- he said all these really beautiful things, you know. About how it would get better. And he told me to picture the future, outside of Lima, being a successful sports agent, with a partner, but I,” Dave’s voice trailed off, and his words became a whisper, “I pictured him. I pictured myself with him. That’s what made me so happy.”

Sebastian closed his eyes, leaning his head back against his headboard and taking a few seconds to gather his thoughts into something constructive.

Finally, he opened them and snapped the rubber band again.

“Alright. Here’s how we start. No more grand romantic gestures – not for a while. You start with little stuff – hanging out, him getting to know you. The key to all of this is exposure. The more he sees you, the more he thinks about you, and the more he thinks about you, the more likely he is to want to see you again.”

Dave straightened slightly. “How do I do that without Blaine?”

“You don’t need to, not at the start. Step one is cementing your friendship, letting him be comfortable around you. The Lima Bean is a good place, he’s there practically all the time.” Sebastian paused, bringing his knee up to his chest as he thought. “I know from the Warblers that New Directions is performing at the Lima Senior Center next week. You know what a show choir performance is a good excuse for?”

Dave stared at him with a nonplussed expression. “Singing?”

“No. Flowers, Dave. You can go out to support him and bring him some flowers. You’ll say it’s for the whole club, but give it just to him. What type of flowers does he like?”

“Uhh…how many types are there?”

Sebastian couldn’t help but sigh. “He likes the color purple, Dave. Get him some lilacs or hydrangeas.”

“Right, lilacs or … what was the other one?”

“Inviting him and Blaine out to Scandals might be a good idea, too – get him to relax a bit more.”

“But you’ll come with me, right?”

Sebastian stopped mid-thought. “Sorry, what?”

“I don’t – I mean, you see how bad I am at all this. I need you there, to keep me from saying stupid stuff.”

Sebastian started shaking his head. “No, that wasn’t the deal, Dave. The deal was that I – “

“The deal was that you’d help me,” Dave said stubbornly, scrunching his baseball cap in his hands. “If ‘Buy purple flowers’ and ‘go to the Lima Bean’ is all you have, you’re not really holding up your end.”

“Dave, me being there is not going to help your cause. Blaine might be coming around to me, but Hummel would gladly push me into oncoming traffic if he could. If anything – “

“You said you’d help!” Dave burst out, and then gutturally low, “You. Owe. Me.”

And there it was. The brutal honesty Sebastian had been desperately avoiding all night, the giant suicide elephant in the room. He waited for his conscience to give him what-for, but instead it gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. _You seem like you hate yourself enough already,_ it whispered. _Not much for me to do here._

And he did. He hated the weaponized words he used to throw around like they were confetti. He hated the way he’d been digging himself further and further down a hole he wouldn’t have been able to get out of. He hated the little arrogant shit he used to be.

But mostly, he hated how he basically hadn’t changed at all.

Sebastian rested his chin on his knee, letting the rubber band fall onto his sheets. “Okay, here’s the deal. I _will_ be at the New Directions performance. I _will_ invite Kurt and Blaine to go to Scandals with us. I _will_ go with you guys to Scandals. I will help you through all the building blocks and basic foundation that I can.” Sebastian took a breath. “But after that, Dave, aside from some over-the-phone _Dear Abby_ stuff, I’m out. I think – I think that’s more than fair. And besides, if you actually want to be with Kurt, you can’t keep relying on me, anyways.”

Dave seemed to be thinking it over, mouth tightly pursed in concentration, eyes squinting slightly. Finally, he relaxed. “Fine. It’s a deal.”

Sebastian, with a shot of relief, scooted forward and held out his hand, waiting until Dave held out his and gave it a firm shake.

“In the meantime,” Sebastian said, pulling back from the handshake, “you might want to start looking up some major musicals and fashion brands, so that you at least get some of his references. Also, while you’re at it, you need to get some new clothes. People say you dress for the job you want. Well, you look like you’re dressing for middle-age. Get some t-shirts and jackets that don’t say truck driver-in-training.”

Dave stared at him, and for a second Sebastian thought he might have crossed a line, but then a small grin tugged at the corner of Dave’s mouth. “Yeah, and you might want to stop dressing like Waldo.”

Sebastian looked down at his striped, long-sleeved shirt. “That’s neither here nor there, Dave,” he smirked. “I’m not the one trying to seduce the Fashion Police.”

Dave stood up, fitting his cap back on his head. “So, I guess … I guess I’ll see you around, then.”

Sebastian pushed off of his bed. “I guess so,” he said, opening his dorm room door.

“Oh, and Dave,” Sebastian said when he was already in the hallway, waiting for Dave to turn back and face him. He put on his most punch-me smirk. “No gorilla suit this time.”

* * *

Hummel had once asked Sebastian if he lived in the Lima Bean (and that was rich, coming from the guy that was single-handedly responsible for luring the Warbler congregation out there from Westerville).

But, despite the Lima Queen’s suspicions, Sebastian wasn’t there so often because he had a mattress in the backroom.

He went to the Lima Bean because he genuinely liked it. He liked being where the action was. It was the place where both New Directions and Warblers came to sip overpriced coffee, and therefore, to quote any _Love and Hip Hop_ episode, the place where shit was most likely to go down.

But it wasn’t just that. He’d frequented what were supposed to be the cream of cafés in Paris, and some dinky Ohio coffee shop should have seemed like a cheap imitation, but instead, something in it felt cozy, quaint, like it was perfectly content with what it was. Sebastian never thought he’d appreciate subtlety, but the faint trace of pine scent, the woodwork finish, the oldies music, had all settled somewhere in his blood and made it feel like instant comfort when he walked inside.

Dear Lord, the Midwestern air was making him go soft.

_Maybe that’s a good thing,_ his conscience whispered to him as he swung open the Lima Bean’s door, and he couldn’t tell whether or not it was with a sense of irony.

As he entered, the first thing he saw was Hummel, sitting at a table to the right of the door and writing furiously on a pad of paper.

It had been nearly a week since Dave had enlisted Sebastian as Wingman Extraordinaire. That time had been spent in lengthy text exchanges about who Patti LuPone was and whether or not Dave should think she was better than Barbra Streisand, as well as exactly what type of article of clothing a neckerchief was.

At one point, after a barrage of photos of nearly identical shirts, Dave had called him frantically from the Lima Mall and begged him to drive down and help. Sebastian was ashamed to say that they’d pretty much reenacted the shopping scene from _Pretty Woman_ (at least he’d been Richard Gere).

Now, though, the New Directions performance was in a few days, and on top of it, Sebastian owed Dave a Scandals fantastique experience. Pausing briefly in the doorway to consider Hummel, who was dressed in something that vaguely resembled a dark green poncho and plaid trousers, Sebastian decided there was no time like the present.

“Finally writing your memoir, _Confessions of a Gay Virgin_?”

He waited for Hummel to look up, and it wasn’t until he finally did, eyes sparking like blue fire, mouth twisted into a dramatic half-scowl, that Sebastian realized how much he was looking forward to this. Making an effort to play nice meant not being able to verbally tear apart innocents, and Sebastian found himself dearly missing the ability to unleash the cut of his tongue without the added weight of guilt.

With Hummel, he didn’t have to feel guilty – he was swinging a sword at someone who was fully armed. He hadn’t talked to Hummel since his semi-apology to all of them here in the Lima Bean, and he was itching to release his claws.

“Worried about competition for yours, _Confessions of a French Call Boy?_ ”

The corner of Sebastian’s mouth tugged into a half-smile. “Is this seat taken?” Sebastian asked, indicating the chair across from Hummel.

“Single, I think, but I’d still buy it dinner first if I were you.”

Sebastian gave him an insincere grin, and then, sitting down, draped an elbow over the seat back, putting his full smirk on display. “So, how’s life been?” he asked. “Still building that poncho collection, I see.”

Hummel pursed his lips and angled an eyebrow of disdain. “Shouldn’t you be in a forest, gnawing down a tree for a dam?”

Sebastian automatically closed his open-lipped smile, surreptitiously licking over his teeth. If there was one thing that he was slightly sensitive about, it was his teeth, and Hummel seemed to have a strange obsession with insulting them. Fuck, he smelled weakness like some kind of attack Pomeranian.

“I don’t know about you, Hummel, but I was just trying to be civil.” Sebastian tilted his head in mock innocence, and then promptly dissolved back into his smirk. “But if you want to trade insults, we can start with that poncho sweater. Ugly Betty called, and she doesn’t want it back.”

Hummel leaned forward slightly – just slightly, but the power move wasn’t lost on Sebastian. “That’s interesting, coming from someone whose hair looks like it’s trying to start its own reality show.”

“Your outfit has _slightly_ less sex appeal than Miss Marple.”

“Your teeth deserve their own postal code,” Hummel said sweetly, leaning his elbow on the table and tilting up his chin.

“Speaking of different postal codes, where’s Wonder Boy? Finally making a run for it?”

It seemed to be the wrong thing to say, because suddenly, to Sebastian’s disappointment, the rhythm was broken, and Hummel’s war face turned into mild impatience.

“What do you want, Smythe?”

Sebastian made sure to lean forward onto the table as well (two could play at the territory game). “Well, now that you ask, I was going to invite you and your dwarf Dreamy out to Scandals next week.”

“And why would we agree to that?”

“Well, for one, it would be a good way to start fresh. Water under the bridge, and all that.”

Hummel looked like he was almost about to snort, if he would ever permit himself to do something so inelegant.

“Despite the fact that you’ve never _actually_ apologized to me and Blaine?”

“I apologized to you here in the Lima Bean,” Sebastian said, feeling slightly defensive for the first time in the conversation. “I apologized to all of you.”

_I must have forgotten that apologies come in one-size-fits-all_ , his conscience said with mocking blue eyes, and Jesus, the last thing he needed was to deal with two of them at once.

“Oh, I see. Well, in that case, I disrespectfully decline.”

“I said that was the first reason you should come to Scandals.”

“And the second one is?”

“Because Dave wants you to.”

Within a second, a multitude of emotions crossed Kurt’s face, like a flipping Rolodex. Sebastian felt like he only got to glimpse a few of them, but they ranged everywhere from hope to frustration to sadness. At the end of that second, Hummel was back to the haughty expression he seemed to default to as often as Sebastian defaulted to his smirk.

“David is going to be there?” he asked, hand brought up to grasp his coffee, though he didn’t raise it.

“Yeah,” Sebastian said, still slightly thrown by what he’d just seen. “He wanted to have a little fun next Friday night. I thought I’d take him out, but I also thought, you know, he’d probably like it if you guys came.”

“And you’re – you’re sure he wants me to come?” Suddenly, Hummel’s voice was soft and tentative and unsure.

Now Sebastian was really thrown. Was Hummel really that oblivious to Dave’s feelings? And that kaleidoscope of emotions – Sebastian hadn’t expected that. For the first time, much to his surprise, he wondered if maybe Dave’s case wasn’t as hopeless as he’d thought.

“I think if you came, it would make his night,” Sebastian said sincerely. Maybe he was giving too much away, but Kurt strangely looked like he needed the reassurance.

There still seemed to be a little doubt left in his eyes, but he pulled back to leaning against his seat, seemingly reaching a decision.

“Well, in that case, Blaine and I will be there. Assuming,” he paused meaningfully, “you’re actually doing this for David, and not with some ulterior motive.”

“You wound me, Princess,” Sebastian said. “I’m turning over a new leaf, remember? No more motives of ulterior nature.”

_The irony,_ his conscience snorted.

Hummel held his gaze steadfastly, and Sebastian refused to break the stare first.

Finally, Hummel looked away. “I suppose it’s a plan, then,” he said primly, picking up his pencil again and focusing back on the paper he’d been writing. Not looking up, he said, “In case you weren’t aware, this is your cue to return to the flying monkeys.”

To his sudden surprise, Sebastian realized he didn’t quite want to leave (and since when had he become dependent on people’s company?). But there was something stress-relieving and almost cathartic in the bickering he did with Hummel, and he wanted to keep the cannons firing. For a brief moment, he considered saying something to set Hummel off, something that would reignite the battle.

But the moment passed, and instead he stood, sliding the chair back into the table. “Till we meet again, Glinda.”

_Original,_ his conscience snickered.

“Original,” Hummel murmured.


	3. We Used to Have It All, But Now's Our Curtain Call

Subtly checking out guy’s asses at the Lima Bean.

Self-denying that day drinking was a sign of early-onset alcoholism.

Stealing either Nick’s or Jeff’s phone and sending uncharacteristically lewd texts from it.

It wasn’t a complete list, but those were just some of the things that Sebastian felt would have been a better use of his Saturday afternoon than what he was doing now.

“I’m so glad we’re doing this,” Jeff said, nearly bouncing out of the car the moment it came to a full stop in the parking space. Trent, who was in the driver’s seat, smiled over at Nick.

“I never get tired of how enthusiastic he is about everything.”

_That makes one of us,_ Sebastian thought darkly. He didn’t understand why Jeff couldn’t accept everything for the stale mediocrity that it was.

“Well, it’s certainly infectious,” Nick replied to Trent as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

“So is mono,” Sebastian said, swinging open his car door and pushing himself out into the steady glow of Ohio sun. He had been stuck in a middle seat for a forty-minute car ride, and he wasn’t sure if the tight squeeze or the spontaneous _Train_ acapella had been the more unbearable part of that experience. He stretched out his back and then slammed his car door, receiving an unnecessary amount of satisfaction from the loud thud.

Wes and Jeff were already standing outside, blocking their eyes from the sun to look at the building in front of them.

“I’ve never been here before,” Wes said, surveying the sparse scatter of cars in the lot.

“My grandfather comes here to play bridge on the weekends,” Jeff said. “Sometimes, on the way, he stops for lunch at the diner on Fourth.”

“Well, congrats to him for having a more exciting Saturday than us,” Sebastian said drily, coming up to stand beside them in front of the Lima Senior Center.

He was trying his best to behave – really, he was – but being in prolonged proximity to genuinely nice, cheerful people set his teeth on edge like nothing else. Trent and Nick had spent half the way chattering about Thai food of all things, and Wes had taken their close quarters as a chance to update Sebastian about his Model UN club.

He wished that just _once_ he could hear one of them complain, or swear, or admit that they buried bodies on the Dalton grounds once a month – anything, really, to prove that they weren’t live-action Disney characters.

After all, they couldn’t be that fucking happy all of the time, could they?

“You know, you didn’t _have_ to come with us if you didn’t want to, Sebastian,” Jeff said, breaking Sebastian out of his thoughts. Jeff had turned to him with a wry smile and a slightly scolding look in his eyes.

Sebastian ignored the look and flung an arm around his shoulder. “What? And miss this heart-pumping, non-stop thrill ride?”

He tilted his head with a plastered-on smirk, marking it as a win when he saw Jeff blush slightly. The thing that probably still amazed him the most was how much douchebaggery he managed to get away with purely off of looks alone.

“You _are_ technically still on probation,” Wes broke in matter-of-factly as Sebastian slid his arm from Jeff’s shoulder, “which means you’re officially meant to be cataloguing set lists this afternoon.”

Well, mostly get away with.

Unfortunately, Wes wasn’t wrong – Sebastian hadn’t so much resigned from Captaincy as been formally informed of his suspension after Regionals. That meant being relegated to junior member status, being assigned menial tasks outside of practice, and enduring the pain of watching Thad robotically fill in as acting Captain until a new one was reelected.

“You’ve been granted an exemption,” Wes continued, “because you say you sincerely want to support Blaine and his friends.” His voice held a note of skepticism, and Sebastian knew he was waiting for an excuse to send him back to the doghouse. “I hope that’s still true?”

To say that Wes and the rest of them had been surprised when he’d asked to tag along would have been a grand understatement, and he was fairly sure they were all still waiting for the punchline. On a certain level, Sebastian knew that he didn’t deserve the Warblers’ trust or forgiveness quite yet – and admittedly, if he hadn’t been doing this for Dave, he would most definitely not be in attendance.

But if he was being honest with himself (and he rarely was – only on weekends and special occasions), he was a little hurt by their obvious skepticism of his changed ways. He _was_ trying – but just because being an innocent, kiss-ass boy scout came less naturally to him than to all of them, it didn’t mean he deserved less credit for it.

_‘Kiss-ass boy scout?’ You’re right, you’re_ really _throwing yourself into this whole ‘better person’ thing,_ his conscience murmured, and he gave it a shove toward the back of his head; he deserved at least a few hours away from it.

“Hello!”

An elderly woman with a perm of snow-white hair had tottered up to them while they’d been talking. She wore a loose, maroon pantsuit and orthopedic sandals, and was clutching a stack of papers. “Are you all here for the performance?”

“Yes, we are, ma’am,” Jeff said cheerily, as Wes gave a final warning look to Sebastian. “So long as there’s room for us.”

“Oh, lovely! Well, here, take a program.” She began diligently handing out a paper to each of them with slightly stuttering hands; Sebastian accepted one and saw an amateurish font reading out:

**_In a Special One-Time Performance:_ **

**_The State-Renowned Show Choir: NEW DIRECTIONS!_ **

**_Performing classics such as Sinatra, Elvis, and Motown, as well as a few fun surprises_ **

**_There will be refreshments offered before the show._ **

**_Starts promptly at 3:00 pm, Saturday the 3 rd _ **

“State-renowned? Seriously?” Sebastian said, eyebrow already arched in disdain. On seeing Wes’s warning glare, he decided to stop speaking, in case he decided it would do Sebastian some good to walk the forty miles back to Westerville.

“Yes, isn’t it exciting?” the old woman said good-naturedly, missing the sarcasm in Sebastian’s voice. “People are already inside, why don’t you go on in? Enjoy the show!” she said, and began tottering back to a chair that had been set up beside the entrance.

Sebastian had had low expectations for the turnout, but even he felt a bit of secondhand discomfort at the emptiness inside the performance hall. Some plastic chairs had been optimistically added to the sides of the tables and benches already there, but the room was only half full, and most of the attendees looked like they were one ‘fun surprise’ away from a visit to their local hospital.

They chose seats close to the front, and though he did multiple sweeps of the room, he couldn’t see any sign of Dave. Pulling out his phone, he sent him a quick text asking where (the fuck) he was. If Sebastian could show up to this on time, there was absolutely no excuse for head-over-heels Romeo to be late.

At 2:58, Dave burst into the hall, and even from across the room, Sebastian could hear his breathless huffing. He turned to give Dave a _What the fuck?_ glare; he was wearing one of the shirt-and-jean combos they’d picked out at the mall together, and was clutching a bouquet of blue and purple flowers. He ran a hand across his sweaty forehead as he collapsed into a seat in the middle of the room, giving Sebastian a helpless shrug.

“Excuse me, excuse me, everyone.” An elderly man leaning against a cane had made his way onto the stage. He waited a few moments, though Sebastian was fairly certain the elderly audience was as close to awareness as it would get, and then began reading off of a notecard in his hand. “And now, fresh off of a Regionals win and excitedly awaiting their trip to Nationals, we have the state-renowned choir group performing a never-before-seen setlist… New Directors! Err… my apologies – New Directions!”

As it turned out, the performance wasn’t as bad as Sebastian expected it to be.

He’d already known that as a show choir they were solid performers (they had to be, to beat the Warblers), but he’d expected them to lean fairly hard into the nostalgia factor of this performance (after all, what was it with them and Journey?)

But instead, they layered the show with tasteful classics (Sebastian had always had a soft spot for Sinatra) along with some more modern pop. One of the ‘fun surprises’ promised, Sebastian assumed, was a mashup of _Hot in Herre_ and _Fever_ , during which their knockoff Aretha had really gotten a chance to belt.

Another fun surprise was that Berry only spent one song vocally masturbating on stage. All of the other numbers were either group or duet, and shit – Hummel could actually sing.

Sebastian had never heard his voice outside of backup or for longer than a few bars. And seeing that he’d never had a solo in any of the competition numbers aside from when the Warblers had lost, Sebastian had assumed Hummel only joined show choir to check that final box on the National Gay Stereotype list.

But towards the middle of the show, he and Lopez sang a high-octane duet of Gaga’s _Boys Boys Boys_ that Sebastian was afraid would result in an audience fatality, and everything from his vibrato to his phrasing was pretty much technically flawless. Sure, he was as camp as a My Little Pony collection, but rather than trying to cover it up, he played into it. It wasn’t really Sebastian’s thing, but he respected the self-assurance.

When their number finished, Sebastian looked back to make sure that Dave hadn’t had an aneurism. From the slightly open-mouthed look he had on his face as he weakly clapped to Hummel’s and Lopez’s bows, Sebastian wasn’t entirely convinced he hadn’t.

And then there was Blaine’s part of the show, and Sebastian knew a fellow attention whore when he saw one. There was nothing wrong with being one, per say – people didn’t go on stage because they were shy – but Sebastian also knew that Blaine held deity status with the Warblers, and he couldn’t help but compare their skill levels (ex-captain to ex-captain) as Blaine performed a _What’s Love Got to Do with It_? duet with Female Asian.

It was good. Blaine was good – in his technique, in his range, in his, well, everything. Sebastian usually had two settings when it came to guys – competition or seduction – and with Blaine it had gone from the latter to the former. He hadn’t fucked him, so now he had to compare them, and, height advantage aside, he wasn’t sure he was the winner of that Venn Diagram.

Their closing number was _Locomotion,_ where they valiantly attempted to get some audience participation with clapping; only a few of the seniors joined in, and it almost seemed like they were purposely trying to miss the beat. The Warblers and Dave were really the only ones holding the rhythm, and the New Directions finished in a practiced hold for applause to receive only a few additional stray claps.

When they had taken their final bows and made their way to a makeshift backstage, Sebastian stood up, pushing his way past the tables toward Dave.

“Late much?” he asked, giving him a quick once-over.

Dave stood up abruptly from his chair and launched into an explanation. “I was gonna get here early, but then I stained the shirt we picked out, so I was trying to find a different one that would look good, and then at the grocery store they didn’t have one with only purple flowers, so I had to buy two different ones and mix them together…” He paused, picking up the bouquet he had laid on the floor.

In Sebastian’s opinion, Dave was taking the details of all this far too seriously – Sebastian had always been a big-picture kind of guy, with much lower expectations for both himself and, by extension, everyone else.

“Relax, big guy,” Sebastian said. “Shirts and flower color aren’t going to be the deciding factor here.”

Dave took a deep, steadying breath. “I know. You’re right. I guess I’m just – kind of nervous. It’s okay, though. I’m here now.”

“Exactly,” Sebastian said. “You’re _here_ now. And meanwhile, he,” he jerked his head in the direction of the show choir members that had started spilling into the entrance hall, “is over there. So why don’t you go over and give him that custom bouquet you made?”

Dave swallowed roughly and nodded. “Right, okay. Yeah.” With a final self-assuring nod, he began his path towards the crowd of New Directions, while Sebastian went back over to join the Warblers, who were in the midst of trying to decide which number had been their favorite.

Their group began mingling with the New Directions as Jeff ambushed Blaine with a hug from behind, and fortunately, they stopped at a spot just near Hummel, where Sebastian could unabashedly watch and listen in to the conversation.

“Hey, Kurt,” Dave said softly, and as Hummel turned toward him, his face went through that same Rolodex of emotions, though the predominant ones this time were surprise and pleasure.

“David!” he said, in an even higher pitch than normal. “You – you came,” he said, a soft smile spilling across his face.

“Uh, yeah. I heard you guys were, uh, you know.” He paused, with a deer-in-headlights look, and Sebastian mentally prodded him to continue.

_Come on, say the stuff we practiced._

Almost as if he’d received divine inspiration, Dave burst out, “You were great! I mean, your performance, it was – it was really great. Especially your song.”

Hummel blushed, and, well – wasn’t that interesting? “Probably a bit much for this demographic, but, um, we had fun with it.”

“These are for you,” Dave burst out with the same intensity, thrusting the bouquet toward Hummel, who was clearly caught off-guard by the sudden movement. “For all of you, I mean, but I just thought I’d give them to you, because you’re here, and…uh, you were really great.” He trailed off at the end, as if finally losing his burst of steam.

Hummel’s smile faltered for a moment, but then came back on with a flick as he pressed a hand to his chest. “Oh, David, you shouldn’t have,” he said, and Sebastian wondered if he practiced sounding like a _Gone with the Wind_ character.

He gingerly took the flowers, looking at them closely. “They’re – they’re beautiful, David. I’ve never seen these two together before.”

Sebastian could see Dave swell slightly with pride. “You like them?”

“I do,” Hummel said, giving him another smile. “It means a lot to me – to all of us – that you came.”

And then, almost in slow-motion and without any warning, Hummel rocked onto his toes and pressed a soft kiss to Dave’s cheek, letting his lips linger for a few seconds (Sebastian counted) before finally pulling back down and away. He looked down demurely at the bouquet again, as if nothing particular had happened.

Well, that was ahead of schedule. Sebastian felt a flip of smug pride in his stomach – he didn’t know what Nicholas Sparks had made all the fuss about, because this ‘wooing’ business wasn’t so hard, after all.

But the next moment, the self-congratulation that Sebastian had felt was slipping away as quickly as it had come, because suddenly, with a clear view of Hummel’s face, suddenly he could see – he could see the exact way that Hummel was looking at Dave, and God, it was so painfully obvious that he didn’t know how he’d missed it in the first place.

“You’re staring.”

Sebastian’s concentration broke as he turned to look at Nick, who had split away from the Blaine Parade and was appraising him thoughtfully. “It’s slightly creepy.”

“Thanks for the feedback,” he said, and turned back to watching Dave and Hummel.

Dave looked like he’d just been given a Nobel Prize with a winning lottery ticket. Hummel had trained his eyes, almost shyly, on the flowers in his hand, and was tracing his fingers across the petals.

“You know you can go over, right?” Nick said, now at Sebastian’s shoulder. “You don’t have to just watch from a distance.”

“I’m aware,” Sebastian muttered, mind still whirring with implications.

“Hey, Kurt!” Nick called out, and Sebastian gritted his teeth in annoyance. As Hummel turned away from Dave, Nick waved at him, beckoning him over.

“Over here!”

“I hate you,” Sebastian breathed, and Nick gave him a sidelong smile that looked innocent enough, so long as he didn’t pay attention to the mischievous glint in his eyes.

Maybe the Warblers weren’t as angelic as he’d originally thought.

Hummel made his way over, with Dave following suit and wearing a slightly lost expression. Hummel leaned into a hug for Nick, who immediately reciprocated, and then pulled back to give Sebastian a judgmental once-over.

“Sebastian. Didn’t think you’d be here.”

His voice was delicate and snippy, nothing like the sweet, breathy voice he reserved for Dave or the cheerful tone he’d used with Nick.

“That makes two of us,” Sebastian replied, with as much fuck-you as he could infuse into his voice.

“Sebastian really liked your number, Kurt,” Nick broke in. “It was the only one where I didn’t hear him mutter ‘Jesus Christ’ under his breath.”

On the one hand, Sebastian was appreciating that Nick appeared to have a devilish side, but on the other hand – not the right time.

“What can I say,” Sebastian said, resisting the urge to grit his teeth again, “Baby Spice together with generic brand J-Lo? What’s not to like?”

“What did Prince Smarmy just call me?” Lopez had made a one-eighty as she was passing in order to join their conversation, and Sebastian mentally groaned.

“What was it he said - Generic brand J-Lo?” Hummel spoke through the words carefully, and Sebastian didn’t have to see the glint in his eyes to know he was fucking with him. “Yes, I think those were his exact words.”

“Generic brand J-Lo? Well, you’re going to wish for generic-brand painkillers if you say shit like that again, Smythe,” Lopez said, placing a hand on her hip and pouting out her lips in what he thought was supposed to be defiance.

“We still on for Friday?” Sebastian said, abruptly changing the subject in an attempt to turn the attention back to Dave.

As intended, Hummel immediately looked over at Dave. “If you still want me and Blaine to come, I – ”

“I’d love it,” Dave cut him off with a lopsided grin.

“Well, in that case, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Hummel said, all breath and sweetness. “And besides,” he tilted his head back over to Sebastian, his voice taking on a sharper edge, “I’m not cruel enough to leave you alone all night with Satan’s rightful heir.”

Well, at least Sebastian was good for something.

“You guys are going out together?” Nick asked, right before Lopez broke in with, “Hold on, Lady Hummel, you’re actually spending time with this bloodsucker?”

With almost perfect timing, Berry’s voice broke in. “Attention, everyone, we’re going back to McKinley to rehearse for Nationals, I repeat, we are going back to McKinley for rehearsal.”

Sebastian saw Blaine break away from Trent, Jeff, and Wes from the corner of his eye, and Lopez rolled her eyes as she turned around. “Looks like the queen hobbit commands us,” she said, and then glanced back at Hummel. “Oh, and we are not done with this discussion, Fifty Shades of Gay.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Hummel said drily as she left their group, and then turned to Dave with a soft smile. “I love the flowers, David. I’ll make sure the rest of the group sees them.”

It boggled Sebastian’s mind how many tones Hummel had and how quickly he switched between them. To Sebastian, it raised the question of which one was actually real.

“I just, uh…I’m glad you liked them,” Dave said shily, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Hummel turned back to Nick and Sebastian. “And I’m glad you guys came out to the show. I’m sure Blaine really appreciates it.”

“You were really great, Kurt,” Nick said, and then unsubtly nudged Sebastian. “What did you think, Sebastian?”

_Would it be the end of the world to say something nice?_ his conscience crept out from the back of his mind. _Especially since you actually liked his performance?_

“I thought…”

_Go on_.

“…you were, uh…”

Hummel’s expression was one of morbid curiosity, as if he knew nothing good was happening but couldn’t stop himself from watching.

_You can do it. One nice thing, and I’ll shut up for the rest of the day._

“…decent.”

Sebastian internally cringed, not just at the awkwardness of his words, but at the immediate switch in Hummel’s face from apprehension to amusement.

_Oh, so close,_ his conscience winced. _Better luck next time._

“Decent,” Hummel repeated, and since when had Sebastian let Hummel borrow his smirk? “Well, that’s downright generous, Smythe.”

He and Nick exchanged twin smiles, and Sebastian even caught Dave looking down with a hidden grin.

Unbelievable. You try to help a guy out.

Hummel turned back to Dave abruptly, with the same angel-in-training expression as before. “I’ll see you on Friday, David,” he said, briefly placing a hand on his arm.

“I feel like you’re getting the middle seat again, so enjoy the legroom while you can,” Nick told Sebastian unhelpfully.

And then he and Hummel were gone, and as much as he didn’t want to, Sebastian couldn’t avoid thinking about what had happened anymore.

Because Dave had a dazed, back-in-five-gone-to-heaven expression on his face right now, and Sebastian was pretty sure he’d given handjobs that had had less effect than that kiss.

And that was great, except Sebastian had seen something Dave didn’t – maybe something that Dave couldn’t.

Because when Hummel pulled back, for a moment – just a moment, no longer – something slipped out of place. It wasn’t a Rolodex, it wasn’t a gear change, it was just a single moment where, by accident or otherwise, Hummel allowed his feelings to show on his face, the mask to fall, and Sebastian happened to see it.

And he wished he hadn’t. With all of his heart (three sizes too small as it was) he wished he hadn’t seen the definitive sympathy in Kurt’s eyes, the look you give to a loved one but not a lover, the pity that said, clear as a Hallmark greeting card, ‘I care about you, I want the best for you, but sorry, so sorry, I don’t love you.’

Because Sebastian knew now. He knew that whatever complex emotions Hummel had for Dave, romantic love wasn’t one of them. And he knew that all of this was effectively a suicide mission – God, that was a bad choice of words.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Dave was staring at him with an awe-struck expression, eyes lit up with wonder and bliss. “He kissed me. He actually kissed me.”

“Yeah, he did,” Sebastian said dully, because the last thing he wanted right now was for Dave to sing his praises just as he’d realized how completely, hopelessly fucked this all was.

But then out of nowhere, he was being enveloped in a giant bear hug by a giant bear (was that where that expression came from?), and he suddenly knew that in this particular instance, false hope was better than no hope.

Dave finally pulled back. “I think…” he paused, almost as if he was trying to formulate his happiness into words. “I think I actually have a chance with him, you know?”

Sebastian just nodded dumbly. There was a chance. There was a chance that Hummel would run back in, leap into Dave’s arms, and serenade him with a song from _Moulin Rouge_. It just wasn’t a very big one.

Dave smiled a lopsided grin and reached up to pat Sebastian on the arm. “I’ll see you at Scandals, buddy.”

Sebastian nodded, because what else was he supposed to do, and then Dave was gone, and Sebastian knew if wasn’t in the Warblers’ car in the next minute they’d probably leave without him, but he stood there anyway, because again, what else was he supposed to do?

So, Hummel didn’t have feelings for Dave. Well, fuck.

He couldn’t tell Dave that – at least not now, not when he wasn’t quite sure the mental and emotional place at which Dave currently was, belt-wise. So what options did that leave him with?

He could call the whole thing off, say that he’d raised enough profit, cut his losses, and skip out during the intermission of this shitshow.

Or... or, for once, he could discard his own feelings, and just do something, selflessly, for another human being. He might not be able to buy him love, but he could still make sure Dave got a hell of a night with Hummel at Scandals.

And maybe that was all Dave really needed. Maybe, the more time that passed, the less his feelings for Hummel would matter and the more he’d be able to move on to bigger, less camp fish.

Maybe. But either way, Dave deserved to be happy, and if right now, Hummel was what made him happy, then Sebastian wasn’t about to burst that iridescent Glinda bubble.

“Sebastian, you coming?” Trent called into the hall.

“I’m practically running,” Sebastian replied, shoving his hands into his pockets and beginning his walk toward the exit, his legs already dreading the cramped ride.

As much as he wanted to sleep on the ride back, it was time to plan one hell of a night at Scandals.

And maybe, if time permitted, steal Nick’s phone and redistribute some of that cosmic karma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a lyric from Kygo's "Stole the Show"


	4. I'm Not as Think as You Drunk I Am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a song lyric from Panic! at the Disco's "Don't Threaten Me with a Good Time"

Most nights were filler – they were the in-betweens, the beige and gray and haze, the half-remembered bars in Parisian, half-lit streets, with boys who didn’t have names and music that didn’t have words.

But some nights, some nights were different. Some nights had the promise of being either completely spectacular or a spectacular disaster, and nothing in between. Some of those nights in Paris had been Elysiums and seventh heavens and unnamable Holy Grails; some of them they had also been his deepest rock bottoms and fuck-all fuck-ups and memories in a box marked _Forget._

Sebastian was fairly certain this was one of the nights that wouldn’t be anything in between – it would either be perfect, or it would be fucked.

For starters, he wanted to wear something flashy, and that was unlike him.

Usually, he let his looks attract the attention – wearing something showy ruined the illusion; it made it look like he cared. It was true, what the adage said: sometimes less was more. He’d found that the more casually his collar was popped and the more sloppily his shirt was chosen, the more his looks stood out (and besides, guys liked someone whose vibe was a single, double-underlined ‘ _easy’_ ).

Someone on the opposite side of the dictionary from ‘ _easy’_ was Kurt Hummel. In Sebastian’s opinion, everything he’d ever worn screamed ‘Look! Look at how hard I’m trying!’ Sebastian often wondered how many hours per day Hummel spent in front of a mirror (he’d considered himself vain, but that was before he’d learned about Hummel’s daily facial routine).

At first Sebastian had thought that Hummel dressed the way he did out of a complete disconnect with reality, that he wore iridescent jackets and strap-on shirts because that was what the sparkly gays on TV wore, and he just didn’t have the self-awareness to know any better.

But the more he got to know him, the more he began to suspect that Hummel was, in fact, entirely aware of how ridiculous he looked wearing a bedazzled coat in the middle of small-town Ohio – but that he decided to wear it anyway.

The ironic thing to Sebastian was that if Hummel toned down the Lady Gay look, went for something a little more casual, he actually stood a chance of being attractive. Not passing – not with that voice, or with the face of a pixie Peter Pan – but he’d probably be able to pull a few interested (experimental) parties each night.

Sebastian figured he’d never understand Hummel’s compulsive need to play dress-up, and yet…

And yet tonight, he wanted something flashy. He wanted to turn heads and people. He didn’t know if it was the makeover takeover he’d been playing at with Dave, or just the general dread of going back to a too-familiar Scandals, but he wanted to wear something that would make people eye-fuck him, something that said _SEXY_ in capital letters and neon lights.

So instead of going with the usual denim and polo with popped collar (it did not make him look like a nineties frat boy villain, thank you very much), Sebastian found himself slipping into take-me-now tight skinny jeans, a white oxford shirt that strained against his chest in just the right way, and a bomber leather jacket that followed the shape of his hips and his shoulders. The jacket had been one of his mother’s many apology presents, and he’d never worn it before, but tonight seemed like the night. He slipped it over his oxford for a cursory once-over in the mirror (and then popped the collar, thank you very much).

Dave’s almost literal jaw drop when Sebastian stopped by to pick him up did wonders for his soul.

“You’re – wow.”

“Thanks, Dave, not so bad yourself.”

He was trying to ignore the additional presence of Dave’s father at the door. His expression was one of mild shock, and Sebastian wasn’t sure if the surprise was Dave being picked up by gay gentlemen in general, or just being impressed that his son could pull so high.

“So, you boys are going to…”

“The movies, Dad, I said already,” Dave muttered, cheeks reddening.

“Right,” his father nodded, giving Sebastian a careful once-over, and…was he seriously gracing Sebastian with the ‘Father Approval Scan?’

“Which we’ll be late for, if we don’t leave soon,” Sebastian said, leaning against the doorframe with a level of comfort he probably wasn’t entitled to, seeing as he’d never visited Dave’s home before.

“So, Sebastian, you go to Dalton?”

“Yes.” He’d be damned if he was going to start with the ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Karofsky’ nonsense, particularly since he wasn’t _actually_ trying to sleep with his son.

“And you two met…”

“At the mall, Dad. Can we go now?”

Dave’s father stood rooted in place, still considering Sebastian carefully, almost as if he had ‘Bad Influence’ written on his forehead in black marker.

“Just…be safe, Dave. Be a good kid.”

“And on that lovely note…” Sebastian pushed himself off the doorframe, making to turn toward the car.

“Bye, Dad,” Dave said without much preamble, and pushed out of the doorway to follow Sebastian.

“Sorry about that,” Dave said once they were in the car and pulling out of his cul-de-sac. “He’s still getting used to…stuff, I guess.”

“Stuff, Dave? You know it’s okay to say you’re gay, right?”

Sebastian glanced over at Dave to see him staring thoughtfully at his hands.

“Yeah, I know,” he finally said, a little too quietly.

After a moment’s deliberation, Sebastian decided that that was a battle for another day. “Well, at least it was over with pretty quickly. At one point, I thought your mother was going to join us and start taking Prom photos.”

Another bout of silence, and then, “My mom doesn’t live with us anymore. She wasn’t really okay with…stuff.”

“Oh,” was all Sebastian could think to say, his grip tightening on the wheel in equal parts empathy and discomfort. He’d thought _his_ mother was bad. “That…sucks.”

_Eloquent,_ his conscience sighed. _Is that really the best you can do?_

“Yeah, it does,” was all Dave said, and then, because he was a fucking coward, Sebastian turned on the radio, and they spent the rest of the way listening to an Alanis Morrissette marathon, whose music he was pretty sure neither of them liked.

When he finally pulled into the bar’s parking lot, Dave suddenly exhaled in a short laugh. “I remember the first time I saw him here. With you. The first thing I thought, was God, he’s got two guys after him now.”

As Sebastian put the car into park and shut it off, he thought over his words and then frowned. “You thought I was into Hummel?”

“I don’t know. I guess, it just seemed like he could do anything, you know? And then you were dancing with Blaine, and he was sitting at the bar – it just seemed like he wouldn’t have left you two alone, if he’d been jealous.”

Sebastian hadn’t really thought about that. He’d vaguely remembered seeing Hummel talking to someone at the bar, but he’d been more focused on working in a way to naturally grind up against Blaine than on wondering why Hummel was letting him.

Not that it really mattered either way, not anymore. Sebastian pushed it to the back of his mind as they flashed their fake IDs at the bouncer.

Scandals inside was at its usual peak form, which meant it was full of half-done drag queens, lonely old men, and (semi)virile virgins.

He pushed their way to the bar, getting them a couple of seats and figuring he’d cajole his way into a few more when it came down to it.

“A beer?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Sebastian ordered two beers from the bartender and looked over to see a look of surprise on Dave’s face.

“What? I can go slow some nights.”

“Is twenty minutes the fast or the slow night?” a soft voice broke through the din.

Sebastian had expected that some kind of disturbance would have alerted them to Hummel’s and Blaine’s entrance – an explosion of confetti, maybe, or just the sound of his high-pitched voice carrying in from the parking lot – but here they were, standing behind them as unexpectedly as an immaculate conception.

He swiveled in his chair to fully face them. “Well, if it isn’t Anderson and Hummel, good cop and good cop.”

“This place is packed tonight,” Blaine said, with excitement sparking in his eyes. “We haven’t been here in forever.”

_Yeah, if you had you would have seen me wasting away on the barstool every weekend._

“Yeah, us neither,” Sebastian said, not entirely sure why he’d felt the need to lie. It definitely wasn’t because of the way Hummel’s nose crinkled slightly in distaste as he surveyed the surrounding crowd.

_Whatever helps you sleep at night,_ his conscience whispered slyly.

Meanwhile, Dave had stood up hastily from his bar stool, smoothing down imaginary wrinkles from his shirt.

“Hey, Kurt…Blaine.” The pause between the two names was audible, with the second one sounding like it was tacked on as an afterthought. Dave stepped away from his stool and beckoned to Kurt. “Here, take my seat.”

“Oh, no, that’s –“

“No, really, I’ll get the next one that opens up,” Dave said assuredly, and Kurt gave him a final, hesitant smile before accepting, sliding into the seat next to Sebastian. Blaine was still looking around at the rainbow crowd, seemingly in awe of the tawdry strobes and heavy-set drag queens.

“So, looks like we’ve finally got all of Dorothy’s friends together,” Sebastian said lazily. He slid off his chair like Dave had, except his reasoning was less chivalry and more as a chance to finally put his outfit on full, effective display.

He’d started to think that maybe there was something to be said for putting in a little effort to his wardrobe. He’d already had a couple of murmured ‘fuck’s as he’d passed by the dancers on the way to the bar, and as close to a man’s eyes literally popping out of his head as he figured he’d ever see. Even the surly bartender had given him a double-take (though that may have been because he’d finally ordered something other than tequila).

Blaine turned back to face him just as he was straightening his jacket, and his reaction was perfectly gratifying. He immediately colored, and his eyes lingered a few seconds too long on the cling of Sebastian’s jeans.

And then Sebastian looked over to see Hummel’s reaction, which was… nothing.

Not a flicker of surprise, not a quick once-over, not even a questioning eyebrow raise. Out of everyone, Hummel, honorary clothes Nazi, should’ve had the biggest reaction to a style rebrand. Sebastian had even looked forward to rendering him speechless for a few seconds, watching smugly as he searched for an elusive insult.

“All of Dorothy’s friends? Are you planning on asking the Wizard for a heart, then?” Hummel asked, elbow leaned against the bar, his mouth twisted in typical haughtiness.

Alright, so maybe speechless had been a stretch. Had the boy spent so long staring into bleach-white compact powders that he didn’t know the definition of ‘hot’ anymore?

Sebastian swallowed the aftertaste of irritation along with his instinctive urge to snap back. After all, this night wasn’t about him, not really, and he’d gotten enough gratification from the surrounding Ohioan gay community as it was.

“Hey, Dave, been a while,” Blaine said, giving his hand a firm shake with an open, easy smile, no hint of discomfort evident on his face. Sebastian would have probably been a touch less friendly with a guy who’d tried to proposition his boyfriend in a gorilla costume, but he supposed that whole Warbler ‘nice above vice’ motto ran pretty deep.

“Hey,” Dave said, coloring slightly. Sebastian was baffled how he’d managed to stay in the closet for so long, because his emotions showed on his face as clear as flare signals.

“I like your shirt. Is it new?” Kurt said, just barely brushing his hand across the sleeve of the polka-dot polo Dave was wearing.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I don’t know, is it too…?” Dave trailed off, blushing even harder than before.

“I think it looks great, David,” Hummel said, with a reassuring smile, and Dave’s face lit up like a megawatt bulb. It almost made Sebastian feel rewarded – almost.

Blaine was busy fiddling with his jacket zipper, and Hummel had turned to look at the other people sitting along the bar.

‘ _Tell him he looks good,’_ Sebastian mouthed at Dave, who frowned at him in confusion.

Sebastian sighed, and then tried again, overenunciating the words with his mouth. ‘ _Tell. Him. He. Looks -_

He shut his mouth abruptly as Hummel turned back. “So, what’s the plan for tonight?” he asked, leaning slightly toward Sebastian, away from the tipsy, balding man that had begun leering on the other side of his seat. At least Sebastian could feel good about winning that mental comparison.

“You look really good, too, by the way,” Dave said, finally catching on to what Sebastian had been mouthing.

Oh, well. He supposed late was better than never.

Hummel stretched his arms out with a sly grin, shaking his sleeves. “What, are velvet and sequins your thing now?” He was dressed in a green velvet turtleneck and crescent-patterned pants, where small metal sequins dotted the tips of the moons.

_Anything you wear is his thing, Hummel,_ Sebastian thought, mentally rolling his eyes.

“Not usually. But I guess they just look good on you,” Dave said, and Sebastian almost took a double-take, because that was actually bordering on the edge of natural-flirty.

Wanting to end on a strong note, Sebastian figured he’d get the night moving along. “Well, Dave and I ordered some beers, but how about we start with a round of shots for the four of us?”

Hummel tilted his head skeptically. “Four of us? I thought I was designated driver? Like, always?”

Damn him for having the memory of a brightly-colored circus elephant.

“Actually,” Sebastian said, “I thought tonight we could mix things up a little.”

“You mean you’ll try being a decent person?”

_Fucking hilarious_. Sebastian was laughing on the inside.

“I meant,” Sebastian said, suspecting that a little irritation was creeping into his voice, “I thought that this time Blaine and I could be the designated drivers, and you and Dave can be the ones to let loose tonight.”

Sebastian hadn’t exactly run this plan by Dave, for various reasons, but Dave would just have to trust him on this one.

Hummel’s expression was one of suspicious surprise, and he seemed to be scanning Sebastian’s face for potential ulterior motives. Either he found one or decided he wasn’t taking chances anyway, because he finally leaned back with a frown.

“Maybe a little later. I think I’ll stick to a soda for now.”

“Oh, come on, Hummel, have a little fun,” Sebastian cajoled, even though he instinctively felt it was useless. Hummel was as stubborn as a sweater-wearing pit-bull when he made up his mind on something. “You know, _fun_ , that thing where you enjoy yourself? Blaine doesn’t mind sticking to Shirley Temples for a night, do you, Blaine?”

He looked over at the shorter brunette, whose face had fallen slightly from the excitement it had held earlier.

“I mean…” Blaine glanced over at Hummel, who simply raised his eyebrows at him. “…of course, I don’t mind, Kurt, if you want to switch tonight.” Sebastian wasn’t even touching the innuendo that could be read from that sentence.

Evidently, Hummel wasn’t either, though Sebastian could have sworn a touch of amusement graced his lips for a second as he turned to the bartender who was passing.

“Three shots, please,” he said primly. “And a soda.” The bartender nodded, giving Hummel a small smile as he turned to the next order. Sebastian had been going there for almost a year now, and he hadn’t seen the guy smile once.

“I was wondering, uh,” Dave said, “if you guys wanted to choose a song? It’s Jukebox Night.”

Blaine’s face immediately perked back up again. “I’ll come with you,” he said, handing his jacket to Kurt, who began neatly folding it on his lap. “Oh, I hope they have Mariah. Which song do you want me to put on for you, Kurt?”

“Surprise me,” Hummel said drily as he smoothed the top layer of the fold.

Blaine only nodded and looked at Dave expectantly, and Sebastian could tell Dave had been intending for Hummel to come with him.

“Right, yeah, uh, this way.”

And then Sebastian and Hummel were alone, and he hadn’t been aware that such a thing as awkward silence could exist while _Cotton-Eye Joe_ was loudly playing in the background.

Hummel’s face was down, focused on smoothing imaginary lines from Blaine’s perfectly folded jacket.

“Alright,” Sebastian finally said. “Get it out of your system.”

Hummel looked up at him, eyes swimming with defensiveness and confusion. Sebastian made a scanning motion over his own outfit with a free hand.

“You have thirty seconds. What’s the best you’ve got?”

Hummel blinked at him. For a moment, Sebastian thought he’d entirely lost him, but then…

“Which _Gossip Girl_ character are you dressed as?”

“Not bad for a start, but I think you can do better.”

“Every time you put on that jacket, a hedge fund manager gets his wings.”

“Points for originality.”

“Your outfit is decent overall, but I think you’re missing a belt that says ‘Open 24/7.’”

“Do you have one that says ‘Closed until further notice?’”

“Your jeans are pretty much –

“Ooh, sorry, your thirty seconds are up,” Sebastian said, just as the bartender slid their drinks on the table in front of them. “I have to say, I think you’re losing your touch, Hummel. At your peak, you could have fit at least five insults in there.”

Hummel stared at him defiantly, mouth pursed. “That was ten seconds at most.”

Sebastian smirked, and then slid one of the shot glasses towards him. “Go on. Blaine will live.”

“As I already said: no, thanks.”

Sebastian made a show of looking over at Dave, who was hunched over a jukebox, laughing beside a clearly frustrated Blaine, who was scrolling through the screen.

“You’re right. This night isn’t about Dave having fun, or getting to hang out with you. It’s about you, sitting sullenly in a corner, holding our jackets.” Sebastian turned back toward him, hoping the challenge came across in his eyes. He’d known getting Hummel to relax would be the hardest part of the evening, but if he could just get a foot in the door, just a bit of leeway…

“You’re assuming that I’m more fun to be around when I’m drunk,” Hummel said, though his eyes were on the shot glass.

“Well, you can hardly get _less_ fun, now, can you?” Sebastian said, nudging the glass the tiniest bit forward.

“Come on,” he said. “Just one drink.”

And then Sebastian made his first mistake that night, because his next words were famous last words, and a challenge to a fickle universe if there ever was one.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

* * *

They were four rounds in, and the night was finally getting interesting.

True to his word, Sebastian had opted out after the first round of shots and nursed his bottle of beer instead. He also (not so) gently had to remind Blaine that as designated driver, he should probably do the same.

Blaine’s face had sunk, but then the Mariah song he’d chosen came on, and…okay, apparently Blaine didn’t need to be drunk to dance like that.

Meanwhile, Sebastian had made sure that Hummel and Dave were still taking shots, and it was probably waiting for the third round that the alcohol really hit Hummel’s system, because he started chattering excitedly at Dave about _Real Housewife Swap_ or _Keeping Up with the Bachelors_ or some reality show shit like that, gesturing effusively and regularly placing a hand on Dave’s shoulder to emphasize a certain point.

Sebastian could tell Dave wasn’t even close to following whatever Hummel was saying, but he also looked like he was in seventh heaven, and Sebastian couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud, because _he_ was the reason this was all happening.

Meanwhile, Blaine had danced back over to them, somehow in possession of a shot glass that Sebastian had not seen him take.

“This is fun, guys!” he said, grinning widely as he set the shot glass down. “I’m going to dance again.”

Hummel just waved him off and turned back to Dave, and well, that was a hands-off boyfriend-ing approach. It reminded Sebastian again of that night in Scandals when he’d let Sebastian dance alone with Blaine. And then of how relaxed Blaine was around Dave. It was an odd dynamic to Sebastian, and it felt less like trust and a little more like indifference.

Hummel suddenly turned back to Sebastian. “You are such a Charlie, too!” he said emphatically, eyebrows raised expectantly, and Sebastian didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about, but he nodded indulgently anyway.

Another pair of shots was placed on the table in front of him, and Sebastian pushed one toward Dave and the other toward Hummel.

“I don’t think I should,” Hummel said in an unsure voice, and then looked up at Sebastian expectantly.

With a start, Sebastian realized Hummel was waiting to be convinced. By him.

Well, that was new.

“Are you having fun?” he asked, leaning in slightly to be heard above the music.

Hummel’s eyes were glimmering with contentment and enthusiasm, and for once, the haughtiness was all but gone from his face, replaced with a carefree smile. Sebastian hadn’t considered how closed off his face usually was, how composed, until just now, when he was beginning to see the barriers come off, layer by layer.

Now that he thought about it, he didn’t think he’d ever really seen him actually smile before.

“Fun? You mean that thing where you enjoy yourself?” Hummel said, and for once, his tone with Sebastian was actually friendly and teasing instead of guarded.

“Exactly that thing,” Sebastian said. He was beginning to think that getting him a little buzzed was actually doing Hummel some good, Dave’s cause aside. Clearly, the guy had some stress and tension to get off his shoulders.

Hummel turned abruptly to Dave. “Are you having another one, David?”

“I will if you will,” he replied, his cheeks rosy with alcohol and emotions.

Hummel smiled cheekily and raised his shot glass. “Make a wish.”

_Gee, I wonder what he’ll wish for,_ Sebastian thought, finishing off his beer with a final swig as they downed their shots.

Dave pulled out his wallet, taking a few bills from inside. “I’ll cover the next round,” he said, louder than he needed to, and placed them on the table. Hummel’s eyes didn’t follow the bills, remaining on the open wallet instead.

“What’s that?” he asked, head tilted slightly in confusion.

Dave looked to where he was pointing and didn’t respond, so Hummel reached over and pulled out a piece of paper.

He began reading what Sebastian assumed were the words on the paper. “ ‘Therapy specializing in curing troubling tendencies or inclinations for – ’ Dave, what the fuck is this?” Hummel was staring at him with an open mouth, and Sebastian leaned over his shoulder to read the rest of the paper.

Dave’s lips pursed into a thin white line, and his body somehow managed to slightly sag into itself. “My…mother gave that to me. Before she left. In case I wanted – in case I wanted help.”

Sebastian felt the same rush of discomfort and pity that he had had in the car, and just like in the car, his immediate reaction was retreat. He resisted the urge to stand up abruptly, not sure what to do or say, but Dave was busy staring at his hands, and Hummel had just gone back to gaping at the paper.

Sebastian was trying to think of an excuse to leave (fucking coward, fucking coward), when Dave beat him to the punch.

“You know,” he cleared his throat, “I think I’m going to choose another song, so that, uh…” He trailed off as he stood from his seat, but Hummel stood with him.

For a moment, Sebastian thought all three of them were trying to make a run for it, but instead, Hummel placed his hand on Dave’s shoulder.

“Fuck her,” he said in an unexpectedly clear and steady voice.

Dave’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. Sebastian wasn’t sure his were any different. “Wh-what?” Dave asked.

“I said, fuck her,” Hummel repeated calmly. “I know it’s hard for you to hear, David, because she’s your mother, and you still love her – probably always will – but she is a villainous, poisonous cow who does not deserve – does not _deserve_ , do you understand me? – to even breathe the same air as you. Fuck her, okay? This trash – “ Hummel waved the paper in the air, “why do you carry this around with you? Why do you look at it every time you have to pay for something, or show your ID, or get change? As some sort of punishment? Because you do not deserve punishment, David,” Hummel’s voice was hot with angry tears now, “ _she_ deserves punishment, for giving you this filth.”

Hummel took a step back, pulling his hand from Dave’s shoulder and reaching down to take his hand instead. Dave’s brows were drawn together tightly, his mouth puckered, and Sebastian had seen the exact same expression on him when he’d been trying to hold back tears.

“Listen to me, David. You don’t need this,” he held forward the paper again, “you don’t need to be fixed, because you’re not broken. Look around you, David,” Hummel waved his hand, his voice raising in both volume and pitch, “look at all these people, David, these people, living their lives, look at me, look at Sebastian, none of us – _none_ of us – need to be fixed, do you understand?” He fell silent abruptly, his breath slightly ragged. Dave just stared at him with the same strained expression.

“Do you understand, David?” he repeated after another beat of silence, and finally, after what seemed like forever to Sebastian, Dave slowly nodded.

Hummel pulled up Dave’s hand, uncurled it, and placed the piece of paper inside. “Throw it away, David,” he said softly, and suddenly Dave’s fingers were curling in on themselves, crumpling the paper inside, and then he was taking Sebastian’s empty beer bottle and stuffing it in, letting it fall to the bottom.

And there it was. Sebastian would have been on the other side of town right now, but Hummel had stayed. Hummel had made Dave listen, had said all the things that Sebastian would have wanted to say if he had the ability to dream them up in the first place, had taken the first step to patching the gaping hole where Sebastian had tried to paint over instead.

And for some reason, that hurt Sebastian.

It hurt him, that Kurt could do that, could just face feelings and emotions and tears head-on, head-first, could so easily do something that Sebastian couldn’t figure out how to do for the life of him. Didn’t Sebastian get points for trying? Didn’t he get any credit for the progress he’d made, as far from perfect as he might still be?

Didn’t it ever get easier?

It was unfair. It was shitty, and it was unfair, and he suddenly felt angry with Kurt, for being able to do that, because what class had Sebastian skipped where they’d taught lessons on how to fix people and heal emotional scars?

And he knew it was irrational, but he felt the anger coursing through him anyways, felt the sudden desire to push Kurt down, anything to not feel so small and useless and – well, shitty anymore.

He didn’t know how he managed to keep his mouth shut in that moment, but he focused on taking the four shot glasses that were still out, and neatly stacking them. One in the other in the other in the –

“Let’s dance!” Kurt burst out unexpectedly, and Sebastian looked up to see him tugging at a smiling Dave’s hand, pulling him gently toward the dancefloor, and _obviously_ ignoring Sebastian, because what was he except the asshole that Kurt had to put up with to see Dave – what was he except inconsequential scenery?

Dave looked back at Sebastian with a giant, liberated grin, evidently oblivious to the dark thoughts in Sebastian’s head, and gave him a loose wave goodbye. And then he and Kurt disappeared somewhere into the crowd, probably to find Blaine, and Sebastian was alone.


	5. Suddenly, I'm Not Half the Man I Used to Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Yesterday" by the Beatles

"Screw, marry, kill. News anchor edition. Anderson Cooper, Brian Williams, Meredith Viera."

Sebastian could see by the look on Dave's face that he had no idea who any of those people were, but felt little inclination to help him out. Instead, he leaned against the table the four of them had ended up at (that Sebastian had ended up at, actually, and the rest had joined after dancing) and sadly sipped his water.

"Uh…" Dave screwed up his face in concentration at Hummel's challenge. He was sitting beside Sebastian, directly across from Hummel, and Blaine was leaning his head against Hummel's shoulder. Even though Sebastian had done his best to keep Blaine from alcohol, it seemed like he'd still managed to scavenge it off of unsuspecting patrons.

"Well, I guess I'll kill…the first one, and marry the second, and, uh,…screw the third?" Dave's words ended as a question.

Hummel gave him a look of surprise. "You'd sleep with Meredith? Instead of Anderson? Really?" He paused, as if trying to picture it, and then shrugged unconcernedly. "Okay, I guess. Your turn."

"Uh, okay, so, screw, marry, kill…um, Peyton Manning, Rob Gronkowski, Antonio Brown."

Now it was Hummel's turn to look confused, Sebastian noted disinterestedly.

"David, I don't know who any of those people are."

"Screw Peyton Manning. Kill Antonio Brown. Marry Rob Gronkowski." Blaine had pushed his head off of Hummel's shoulder and was looking at Dave with a proud smile. "Final answer."

Dave smiled back at him. "Same here."

"Sebastian, it's your turn," Hummel said, and – oh, look, suddenly he existed again.

"I'll pass," Sebastian said dully. He'd shrugged off his jacket a good half hour ago, and was now doing his best attempt at sulking without looking like he was (because as it turned out, sulking wasn't attractive on anyone).

Sebastian had had plenty of time to think while the rest of the Scooby gang had gone off to dance, and instead of calming himself down, he'd been spiraling, deeper and deeper, into a dark internal abyss of his own making, filled with unpleasant thoughts that were mostly centered on Hummel, on how the world, against the laws of physics and reason, always seemed to revolve around him.

How did Hummel get away with it?

He was every bit as bitchy as Sebastian, every bit as selfish, but was _he_ trying to become a better person? No. If Sebastian said so much as a word, he was a fucking villain, but if Hummel pulled an insult from his usual kitsch-bitch repertoire, he was just being camp. Not to mention he had two – count them, two – guys who were currently in puppy-love with him.

What a fucking disaster of a night. Why had Sebastian wanted to dress up again? He couldn't remember, because now he felt overdressed and tacky and desperate, and he just wanted to get home and shrug out of all these damn, uncomfortably tight clothes. He had no idea how Hummel regularly wore jeans that painfully tight, except for the possibility that he was Ken-smooth down there.

"That's not how this game works, Gossip Girl," Hummel said, breaking him out of his dark spiral. Sebastian looked up to see Hummel giving him a teasing smile, and – bless him, he was actually trying to be friendly with Sebastian.

He sighed, pushing himself into a seated position.

Fine.

Fine, that wasn't how the game worked? He'd show them how the game worked. He'd invented the fucking game.

"Okay, this one's for you, Princess." Hummel's smile wavered, perhaps put off by the red-flashing danger in Sebastian's tone.

"Screw, marry, kill. Me, Dave, Blaine."

There, he'd said it, and now he couldn't unsay it, and all three of them were looking at him with horrified expressions.

"That's not funny, Sebastian," Hummel said quietly.

"It wasn't meant to be," Sebastian said. "It was meant to be a trick question. Because here's the thing, Hummel, you're so fucking nice you'll never answer it. You're so fucking nice when it comes to just about everything that Gandhi must write 'Dear Abby' letters to _you_. And therein lies the mystery – how can someone be so fucking nice when in actuality, they're kind of a selfish bitch?"

Hummel stared at him, and Sebastian could almost literally see the layers of protection crashing back into place, one after the other.

"I think," he finally said, in a tight, strained voice, "that I'm going to get another drink." And then he gingerly untangled himself from Blaine's form and pushed himself out of his seat.

He took one last look at Sebastian, and beneath the reapplied armor, he could see the _hurt-hurt-hurt_ , and then Hummel turned on his heel and strutted away, chin pushed into the air.

Sebastian pushed himself up as well. "Going to the bathroom," he half-growled, and stalked towards the back of Scandals, away from Blaine's and Dave's stares.

When he was inside the bathroom, he wrenched the faucet tap open, splashing cold water from his face, trying to literally cool himself down.

He felt like absolute shit.

It was always a bad sign when you didn't know if you were angrier at the person you'd just snapped at or yourself – hell, who was he kidding? He knew it was himself. Was it possible, he wondered, to make things ten times worse than they were while trying to make them just a little bit better? Was trying to be a good person kind of like trying to give up an addiction, where you managed to go cold turkey for a month or two, and then ended up in the back of some 7-Eleven stuffing as many cigarette packs into the basket as you could fit?

Because he'd fucked up. There had always been a certain line, a certain clear, sharpie-black line, that he and Hummel had known to never cross, that they had, on mutual agreement, always toed but never touched. Apparently that all changed tonight, though, because he was pretty fucking sure he'd just crossed it – as a matter of fact, he was pretty sure he'd just face-planted hard completely on the wrong side of it.

And now his conscience wasn't anywhere in sight – no, it _was_ , actually, but for once, it was completely silent, just staring at him with that _hurt-hurt-hurt_ expression, and it was all he could see when he closed his eyes.

"What the fuck was that?"

Dave had slammed the restroom door open, letting it thud shut behind him. Sebastian pushed himself straight, turning off the faucet with a robotic motion.

He might as well get this over with.

"I don't know, Dave," he said, and his voice didn't come across nearly as apologetic as it had sounded in his head. "He was getting on my nerves."

"Getting on your – this was about getting him to like me, Smythe! Forget about your nerves, this was my chance to – I was actually getting somewhere, and then you – "

"Well, what's stopping you?" Sebastian spat, shoving his hands into his pockets, because at this point of digging himself into a hole, it seemed easiest to just keep going down. "I don't see that you need me anymore, Dave! So why don't you just go? Wouldn't want to keep you, not when you're so busy kissing the ground he fucking walks on."

"What is wrong with you?" Dave said slowly, his voice thick with resentment and disbelief. And that really was the kicker, wasn't it, because if Sebastian could answer that question, he'd probably have the Nobel Prize in Cognitive Science.

"He's fucking disappeared!" Dave shouted. "You made him run off!"

Sebastian paused from whatever half-formulated acid he was about to throw back at him. "What do you mean, run off?"

"He said he was going to get a drink, but he's not at the bar, and I've been looking all over Scandals, and - " Dave's face was scrunched again, and his breathing was harsh. "I swear to God, Smythe, if something fucking happens to him, that – " Dave jabbed a finger into Sebastian's chest "- _that_ is on you."

* * *

In the end, Sebastian found him in the least imaginative place possible, and he had to wonder about Dave's eyesight if he hadn't spotted Hummel's rainbow display against the dark brick of Scandals' back alley.

"They're looking for you."

Hummel didn't respond. His head was resting on the brick, and his eyes were trained down, and Sebastian figured he wouldn't have been so comfortable leaning on that wall if he knew what Scandals patrons usually did against it (hell, what he'd done against it a couple of times when the stalls had been taken).

"I said – "

"I heard you!" Hummel snapped. He looked up at Sebastian, eyes brimming with unshed tears, lips literally quivering with the effort of holding them back. Sebastian thought Hummel was waiting for him to say something, but then he started speaking himself.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you hanging out with David?"

It took Sebastian a moment to readjust to the unexpected gear shift in their conversation. He looked down at the floor, littered with used condoms and beer cans, and then leaned against the wall a few feet away from Hummel.

"You know why."

"Tell me."

"Because I fucked up with him. Because I'm trying to be a better person," he started, rattling off the words in an emotionless voice, and even to him it all sounded a little too rehearsed. "Because I – "

Hummel gave a harsh, hollow laugh that cut him off. "Bullshit," he murmured, and then, looking directly at Sebastian, eyes blazing, "Bull. Shit. You're not trying to be a better person, you're a spoiled little brat looking for entertainment, and in another week, you're just going to move on to the next attraction!"

And just like that, Sebastian felt his temper flare again. If he was the lighter, Hummel was the oxygen.

"Oh, I'm the hypocritical one? Really? So, you hanging around Dave, encouraging him, knowing how he fucking feels, that's just charity work, is it?"

"This is so fucking like you!"

"What's so fucking like me?"

"It is so _fucking_ like you to make this all about yourself! You didn't even know David!"

All of a sudden, Sebastian felt like he'd been unfairly backed into a corner. He'd come out here ready to argue with Hummel about a bad temper and a bad choice of words, _maybe_ even offer something close to an apology, but now they were suddenly yelling at each other about Dave, and it all felt a little too close to home for his liking.

"You barely even met him," Hummel continued without pause, words pouring out of him like an avalanche. "You say what, like _, ten words_ to him and suddenly you think you're the entire reason for all of his million and one problems? You are a droplet – a _droplet_ – in the shit storm that was swirling around him at the time." And suddenly Hummel was taking a gasp for air, and it took Sebastian a second to realize it was a sob, and that the tears had finally begun their escape down his cheeks.

"You didn't even fucking know him! So, what gives you the right? What gives you the right to act like this is your problem, like this is your fault? You don't get to take responsibility, you don't get to be the one to fix him. You're nothing in all of this!" Hummel stomped his foot in frustration, and the sheer sincerity behind it prevented it from looking comical.

Sebastian felt his cheeks blazing with a defensiveness and uncertainty he'd only ever felt around Hummel. "So what? So, you rejected him, and that means you get rights to all the blame?"

"That's not why I – Jesus!" Hummel threw his hands up, as if he was imploring divine assistance. Finally, perhaps because none came, he dropped his hands to his side, face scrunched in defiance.

"You say _I'm_ full of bullshit?" Sebastian asked when Hummel just glared at him. "Well, guess what? I'm calling you out on yours. You pretend like you're so much better than all of us, like you're the fucking Queen, but you're _just_ like the rest of us. You're _exactly_ like me! You're selfish, and arrogant, and bad-tempered, and the only difference between you and me is that I don't fucking hide what I am!"

His voice had built up to a hoarse yell by the end, and his last shouted words cut off into a resounding silence, where even the disco music coming from inside Scandals seemed to dim itself. It was so intensely quiet that Sebastian could hear himself breathing. He could definitely hear Hummel's miniature sobs, his tiny gulps of air as tear tracks paved pathways down his cheeks.

"I would have given anything to trade places with him that day," Hummel finally whispered into the silence.

And as much as Sebastian's heart was still thrashing with anger, as much as he wanted to believe that Hummel didn't really mean that, he couldn't quite convince himself of it while staring into his broken-glass eyes.

"Seven," Hummel continued, still in a whisper, as if the quiet between them was some incantation he didn't dare break, as if Sebastian was the only one this secret was meant for. "Seven times he called me that afternoon. Seven chances _I_ had to stop him, to talk him off of the ledge. All I had to do was pick up the phone. But I didn't. And I can never, ever forgive myself for that." His voice cracked at the end, and Sebastian absentmindedly watched a tear roll slowly down his cheek, getting caught in the cupid's bow of his lip.

And suddenly Sebastian didn't want to look at him anymore, because Kurt Hummel was many things, but helpless wasn't supposed to be one of them.

_Now do you understand?_ his conscience whispered lowly into his ear.

And Sebastian did. Because it was true that most days, everything that came out of Kurt's mouth was different flavors of bitchy, haughty, and insulting, but beneath the mask, beneath the façade of frost, Kurt actually cared. He actually felt, and loved, and wanted to be better, and no amount of putting on a mask or bitching at strangers would change that.

Meanwhile, Sebastian could preach kindness and forgiveness until his face turned blue, but underneath it all, he would always be stuck as the same selfish, ugly portrait – he was a goddamn Dorian Gray.

And fuck it, deep down, he'd known that already.

Why else would Sebastian have made Kurt the voice of his own fucking conscience?

"Did you ever think…" and even to Sebastian (was he the one speaking? God, why was he speaking?) his voice sounded awkward and stilted, "did you ever think that maybe he was just calling to say good-bye?"

The silence still hung around them, shrouding them, and Sebastian couldn't really move, and it seemed like Kurt couldn't either, and both of them just stood there, frozen, staring at each other, with Kurt's eyebrows furrowed as he hiccupped through his sobs.

He realized Kurt was waiting for him to continue.

Oh, God.

"Did you ever think - that no matter what you'd said on the phone, you wouldn't have been able to talk him out of it? That the moment he said what he'd wanted to say, he would have just…he would have just done it? And that if you'd picked up, he would have done it a half hour earlier, and his father would have had to come home to - "

Sebastian cut himself off abruptly. He didn't need to finish that sentence. He could live his entire life and not need to finish that sentence.

Kurt continued staring at him with wide, glistening eyes, as if Sebastian had just started reciting Ancient Greek poetry.

Finally he un-pursed his lips. "But that – that might not be true."

Sebastian's breath was surprisingly steady for the precise surgical operation he was attempting. "I'm not saying it is. All I'm saying is, what's the fucking point of beating yourself up about it, when you don't know if you not answering the phone made it worse, better, or no different? He's alive. And all that really matters is how you act with him from now on."

_Wow. That was actually kind of deep,_ his conscience finally piped up, wiping away an imaginary tear. _Maybe you should take some of your own advice every once in a while._

Kurt seemed to be processing Sebastian's words, mouth slightly ajar, cheeks still streaked with drying tears, and Sebastian understood now.

He understood that Rolodex of emotions that crossed Kurt's face every time he heard Dave's name. It was a mixture of regret, and guilt, and hope of forgiveness, along with a healthy dose of self-loathing – and in that sense, he and Kurt _were_ very much the same.

For the first time, Sebastian felt an immense pity for Dave, not just because of the suicide attempt, but because of the aftermath – the indignity of having everyone around him treat him like either a porcelain doll or a community service project.

Finally, Kurt shook his head numbly, eyes still trained on Sebastian.

"But you agree."

"Agree?"

"That I'm a bitch."

And again, words failed him, but he knew every second he didn't answer was like water slowly filling up a room, and if he waited too long neither of them would be able to breath anymore.

"Only…only if you agree that I'm one, too," he finally said. It was either the entirely wrong or entirely right thing to say, and he wasn't sure which.

Kurt seemed to be deciding as well, as he absentmindedly licked his lips and took a residual gulping sob.

For the life of him, Sebastian couldn't read him right now. Usually when he couldn't read people, it was because they hid their emotions too well, but with Kurt, it was almost exactly the opposite – there were so many emotions swirling in his eyes right now Sebastian had no idea how to untangle them.

Finally, Kurt took a steading hiccup, gently wiping at a tear track.

"Pot and kettle," he said softly, with the tiniest of smirks, and Sebastian knew there was hope for his sorry self yet.

* * *

"Jesus, where does he hide all that weight? He's so fucking short."

He and Dave were making a team effort of leading a drunk Blaine through the parking lot, both with an arm under one of his armpits, with Hummel walking a little ways in front of them.

As Sebastian half-dragged Blaine out of the way of a vomit pile, he tried to remember if Blaine had been this unattractively drunk last time they were at Scandals – probably, but Sebastian had likely been too busy trying to loosen his morals to notice.

"Hey, that's not very nice," Blaine slurred half-heartedly, trying to elbow Sebastian (and God, suddenly Sebastian was very turned off by boys who couldn't hold their liquor).

"Yogi doesn't think I'm short. Do you, Yogi?" Blaine craned his face up at Dave, who only looked down at him with indulgent amusement. Sebastian wasn't exactly sure at what point that night Blaine had christened the nickname for Dave, but he was sure glad he hadn't been there for it.

When Sebastian and Hummel had re-entered Scandals after their talk (reconciliation? truce?), Dave's expression upon seeing them had been a mixture of relief and unhappiness. Relief, that Kurt was back, and unhappiness, probably that Sebastian still existed.

Hummel had tried to make a beeline toward Dave, but Sebastian had held him off.

"How about I tell him you're not feeling well, and you can go to the bathroom for a few minutes?"

Kurt had only stared at him blankly, tear-swollen eyes blinking in confusion.

"You know, because you look like you just finished watching _The Notebook_ while holding your dead hamster?"

Hummel had self-consciously run a hand against his water-marked cheeks, but the main damage of redness and puffiness still remained.

"Right," he'd muttered, and changed his direction to the bathroom, maneuvering around a few queens who'd been trying to invite them out to the floor.

"Come on, honeys, Whitney wants you to dance," one of them had said in a deep baritone, and then turned her head to watch Hummel's escape to the bathroom. "Where's your boyfriend going, sugar?"

Sebastian had ignored them, moving toward Dave, who was leaning up against the bar with an expression of mistrust and apprehension, while Blaine sat a few chairs away from him, flipping a tiny umbrella back and forth in his hands.

Seeing the squint in Dave's eyes, Sebastian felt a fresh wave of guilt crash over him. This night had been about Dave, and everything had gone from good to shit in a matter of a few words – Sebastian's words.

"He…he felt a little sick. He said he'll be back in a few minutes." Sebastian shoved his hands uncomfortably into his jean pockets. He'd lost track of his jacket when he'd left the table, and he had a strong suspicion that one of the queens was currently tying it around her waist, but hell – it was just a jacket. It hadn't really been his style anyway.

Dave crossed his arms, eyebrows digging little V's into his forehead. "Oh," was all he said, and it hurt Sebastian to see how closed off he suddenly was. All the progress he'd been trying to make the past few weeks was gone, erased in mere seconds. Was there some fundamental law of physics explaining why things were so easy to fuck up but so difficult to fix? Sebastian felt like Newton or Einstein should have looked into that.

"I'm sorry," he said lamely, staring at a kink in Dave's collar. "I shouldn't have… Look, man, I guess I just – "

"He was just getting on your nerves, right? Because – "

"I wanted to help you with your mom," Sebastian broke in suddenly, because what the hell, what could he lose by being honest?

Dave's expression betrayed his surprise, and Sebastian decided to let it all out while he still had the breath to sustain him.

"But I can never figure out the right shit to say, and then Hummel came in like he's…like he's fucking Oprah, or something, and he just said all the right things, and I…" Sebastian trailed off with a weak shrug, chancing a look at Dave's face. He was staring at him, eyebrows still creased, looking deep in concentration.

"So – so you were…jealous?"

"I guess it felt like – like everything comes up fucking roses for the guy. But – "

But shimmering tears, seven chances, a pot and a kettle, memories in a box marked _Forget…_

"But he's got his own shit, too. We all do. And as for your mom, I – you know I agree with Hummel, right? With everything he said?" Sebastian had the sudden the urge to place a hand on Dave's arm, like Hummel had earlier, but he resisted.

Dave stared at his shoes, pushing a cigarette butt across the floor with the toe of his sneaker.

He mumbled something incoherently, and then looked up at Sebastian. "Do you ever _not_ fuck stuff up?"

"Does Hummel ever leave the house without his moisturizer?"

He got the tiniest of smiles from Dave in return, and it wasn't forgiveness, not quite yet, but it was a start.

Now, however, they were in the parking lot, and Sebastian was realizing he was facing a bit of a problem. He'd been planning on letting Dave crash in his dorm room after drinking from the start, but he'd been counting on Blaine being somewhat sober, and from the way Hummel was still walking a touch unsteadily, it didn't seem like either of them was going to be driving home that night.

So, change of plans.

"I'm driving all of you," Sebastian announced, propping his half of Blaine up against his own car as he pulled out the keys from his back pocket.

Simultaneous responses came back at him.

"Road trip!"

"Wait, what?"

"No, Blaine and I will just sit in the car for a little."

Dave turned his protest from Sebastian to Hummel while letting go of Blaine, who made a valiant attempt to balance on his own. "Sitting in a deserted parking lot at 1:00 in the morning?" Dave said to Kurt. "That's a terrible idea."

Hummel looked like he was on the edge of arguing, almost out of habit, but after a moment of glaring, sighed in defeat instead. Apparently, alcohol made him a touch less stubborn.

"I blame you," Hummel finally said, voice dripping in disdain, turning to Sebastian. "This was all _your_ idea."

"Blame me all you want, sweetheart, but you still need to get home, and last I checked, Jasmine never lent you that flying carpet."

"Yogi!" Blaine called as he leaned back against the side of the car. "They're fighting again. Why do they always fight?"

Dave smiled at him, with a patience that Sebastian found remarkable. "Don't worry. It's the only way Sebastian knows how to talk to people."

"Hey, now," Sebastian broke in. "I don't think I deserve all the blame. It takes two to tango." He paused to smirk tauntingly at Hummel. "And apparently, only one to shimmy."

All he received in response was a huff, as Hummel turned to stare at the few cars still left in the lot.

Sebastian pushed down a touch of disappointment. His tentative attempts at reigniting their back-and-forth was a kind of test, a probing of the newfound waters between them – Sebastian needed to see where things stood between them after tonight. Maybe, with any luck, the two of them could even return to normal (whatever the fuck that meant for them).

So far, however, Kurt wasn't really indicating anything one way or the other.

"I say we go to Sebastian's," Blaine said, sticking his arm in the air for an imaginary vote. "Yogi?"

Dave shrugged in resignation. "Well, my dad'll kill me if he smells beer on me. But he'll also kill me if I spend the night somewhere."

"Just tell him I wasn't feeling well at the movies, and you're staying the night with me to make sure I'm okay," Sebastian said, (not so) gently shoving Blaine away with his hip as he unlocked the backseat door.

Dave stared at him. "How do you come up with stuff like that?"

"It's a gift, Dave. Try not to be too jealous." He yanked Blaine toward him, who protested incoherently, and then beckoned to the backseat. "In you go. And leave room for your beloved."

"You really like manhandling my boyfriend, don't you?" Kurt muttered, and as Sebastian looked back at him, he caught the standard glare, but this time, he could've sworn it had a hint of friendly teasing. If he was really indulging himself, Sebastian could even imagine that Kurt was the tiniest bit grateful - transporting his drunk Wonder Boy was no easy feat.

"There needs to be a little more manhood for it to be called manhandling," Sebastian replied as he watched Blaine clamber in clumsily, shoe getting stuck on the car edge for a few seconds before he wrenched it free and toppled the rest of the way in.

Dave gave an appreciative laugh, and Sebastian felt a sudden swell of relief - relief that he hadn't completely fucked over their relationship, and relief that he still had a chance to smooth things over.

Granted, he'd need a fuckton of sandpaper.

"And now you, Cinderella," Sebastian beckoned in, turning towards Kurt.

"You're a shitty fairy godmother," Hummel said drily, but this time Sebastian was certain he heard teasing, and the relief swelled even more.

"Do you want me to make the requisite wand joke, or are you going to take that one?"

"Turn back into a rodent," Kurt shot back as he slid into the backseat beside Blaine.

Sebastian was about to shut the door, but Hummel leaned toward him suddenly. "You lost your jacket."

Sebastian automatically looked down at himself to confirm something he already knew.

"How else will my prince find me?" he said, giving Hummel one of his standard dirty-flirty winks (also definitely automatic).

Hummel seemed appropriately unfazed by it. "That's a shame," he said loftily, turning to face forward. "It suited you."

_Oh,_ now _you admit it._ The irrational part of him suddenly wanted that jacket back, because apparently it suited him, and apparently Hummel _had_ noticed.

But the rational part of him knew that the mischievous glint in Kurt's eyes as he turned away meant he was screwing with him, probably because Sebastian had come off a little too 'I-feel-pretty-oh-so-pretty' with his outfit that night.

And then his conscience was reminding him to focus on more important matters ( _spoiled little brat?)_ , and so he shut the car door without a reply, turning around.

"Ready to bounce…Yogi?"

"Shut up," Dave muttered, blushing siren-red. "He means it in a nice way."

"Sure. When I call people names, I mean it in a 'nice way', too," Sebastian said. "They just never seem to understand." He glanced back at his car, where Kurt was bent away from them, occupied in untwisting Blaine's tangled seatbelt.

"On the bright side," Sebastian said, a little more quietly, "it looks like you don't have much competition for the chivalry side of things. Don't get Lindsay-Lohan-drunk, and you're already exceeding standards."

"I don't – " Dave had a look of perplexity on his face. "I'm not doing this to make Blaine look bad, I just – "

"I know," Sebastian cut him off, patting him on the shoulder. "You're a good person, you just want to make Kurt happy."

Dave's shoulders seemed to relax a little, and Sebastian suddenly realized how tense he was himself, a tension of thin ice and of slowly backing away from a cliff he'd almost just gone over. All he wanted was for this seemingly endless, weepy, therapy-session of a night to finally be over, because looking back, it seemed clear that alcohol and romantically entangled boys were never going to be a good mix.

Then again, maybe it was himself _without_ alcohol that had been the problem.

Suddenly, a slurred tenor was yell-singing, "I meeeeeet a booooy…in east L.A.!" and Hummel was knocking on the inside of the backseat window, gesturing the non-verbal equivalent of 'Are we going yet?'

"Bossy much?" Sebastian mouthed back at him, and Kurt rolled his eyes but didn't quite manage to smother the half-smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

Dave opened the passenger door and ducked inside, turning around to say something to Kurt.

Sebastian crossed to the other side of the car and slid in to the driver's seat, starting up the car and letting the radio blast into life.

"Hey," Blaine said sleepily from Kurt's shoulder as Sebastian started pulling out of the parking spot. "We never finished our game of Fuck, Marry, Kill."

Sebastian wasn't really sure why – maybe it was the residual relief of stumbling his way through reconciliations with Kurt and Dave; maybe it was the resounding "Oomph!" Blaine made when Kurt's hand connected upside with the back of his head; or _maybe_ it was the fact that _Love Hurts_ chose that moment to start playing on the radio – but all of a sudden Sebastian found himself bursting into laughter.

And then, of course, because it was just one of those nights, Blaine threw up in his backseat.


End file.
